


The Beast Tamer

by Surgeworks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Rampant Ron hate inspired me to make this, Ron Weasley-centric, fuck you he's amazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:26:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surgeworks/pseuds/Surgeworks
Summary: A fill-in-the-blank fic describing what happened to Ron after he left Harry and Hermione behind.
Relationships: Charlie Weasley/Original Male Character(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 18
Kudos: 52





	1. Potterwatch

"They are okay, aren't they?"

Ron looked up from his fingernails. Fleur was peering at him from over near the kitchen sink, a concerned look on her face. He nodded, and she returned to her scouring. Yes, his fingernails were properly healed thanks to quick application of dittany. And he was full of food that he hadn't been able to deny when offered to him. Physically, he was in perfect shape. But Ron was stewing in a concoction of guilt, shame, frustration, and a myriad of other emotions he could only blame on his bad decisions.

It was October 20th, five days after Ron had left Harry and Hermione behind at the encampment. Five days of regret, four of them spent frantically running and one of them spent here, relatively well-cared for. He had to go back. At some point, he had to fix this. He knew that. And yet, useless as he's been, so aware of his selfishness...he can't stop a stabbing desire.

"D'you think..."

Bill looked up from where he was combing over a newspaper on the opposite side of the dining table. Ron fidgeted.

"D'you think it'd be wrong to...just go home? See Mum, and Dad, and the twins...maybe Ginny over the holidays...?"

Bill kept his face clearly guarded, trying not to show what Ron was sure was pity. Or maybe he was projecting. He sat silent for a moment, then spoke.

"I don't think that's a good idea at all, Ron. The Burrow's still being carefully watched. Everyone knows how close we are to Harry Potter, especially you--and I think it's quite possible they're going to figure out the spattergroit matter is a ruse, if they haven't already. Bit too much of a coincidence for you to come down with it on the same year Harry ditches school, yanno? Anyway, Fred and George have already abandoned their premises at Diagon Alley, and no one's seen them since, so you won't find them there. Last I heard from Dad, they're planning to pack up and move away as soon as they can figure out some way to get Percy out of the Ministry's grip."

Ron's eyebrows lifted in surprise. He hadn't thought about Percy for quite some time. Though his heart ached for his family, he felt a black pit of anger and disgust forming at the mention of the name.

"Percy can get stuffed." he said bitterly.

His oldest brother set down his paper, looking at him sharply. "Ron, don't be like that. Percy's an arse, but we can't just cast him off to the Death Eaters. Hell, he's probably been going through a lot of what you've had to feel. Embarrassment about his family's status, fear of living in their shadow, fear of not being good enough...it drove him right into the depths of the Ministry, and now he's in over his head, trapped in a Death Eater stronghold."

Ron dropped his head into his hands, groaning. "I know. I don't want anything bad to happen to him, I just...he's a git."

"Yes, he is. So if--when you see him again, along with the rest of our family, it will probably be when _they_ come _here_." Bill said. "Where it's safer for you, anyway. You are staying, aren't you?"

Ron blew a gust of air into his arm, and then looked away, out the window.

"I don't know what to do. I tried to get back to the encampment, but I couldn't find it again, they're already gone, and I...I don't know where they went. I don't know if they're alright, or even if they're still alive... I'm a moron."

Bill bit his lip, obviously unsure of what to say. Fleur hovered behind him, seemingly wanting to cut through the uncomfortable silence now hanging over them.

"Bill, have you checked the radio today?"

"Hmm?" Bill looked up at her, blinking. Ron looked up, too. The look on her face said that she was trying to hint at something.

"Perhaps you will catch the broadcast today? It has been about a week."

Dawning realization lit Bill's face, while Ron could only feel confusion. All of a sudden, with a call of 'Wait here, Ron' over his shoulder, Bill had leapt out of his chair and left the room. Ron simply glanced at Fleur, who was slowly breaking into a smile.

"What is it? What's he trying to do?"

"It is a radio show--but here, he will show you, look--!"

Ron sat bemused as Bill hurried in with a large, old-fashioned radio, more wood and paint than metal and mesh. Ron thought he recognized it, and wondered if it might have been one of his brother's wedding gifts. He laid it on the table with a thud, turned it on, took out his wand, and began prodding it while murmuring words.

" _Prewett...no, they used that one already...Alice? No...Sirius....Rubeus..._ "

"Oi, what're you doing?" Ron said, sitting up straighter and staring at the radio, which was now making static sounds and tuning whistles.

" _Vance...Doge...Burbage..._ There, it was 'Burbage'!" Bill cried, and Ron could now hear voices from the radio.

_"Greetings again, listeners. I'm your host, River, here with my very first co-host, Royal. Say hello, Royal."_

Ron's eyes widened. He knew that voice! That was none other than Lee Jordan, the twins' best friend!

_"Happy I could make it, River."_

"Wha--that's Kinglsey!"

"Yes, sshh!" Bill said. He was grinning, and Ron's own face had broken out into a wide smile.

 _"First thing's first,"_ came Lee Jordan's voice, _"our update on the most recent week of the Second Wizarding War. We regret to inform you of the deaths of Willow Gillespie and Wade Kubrick, both murders claimed under the Dark Mark. Willow's mother Wilma has also gone missing, as have Lisa Bonnet, Andrew Feckley, and Harold Pestle of the West Clandon area. It is believed the latter three were caught in a particularly violent anti-muggle attack that left several properties destroyed, but no bodies have been found. A moment of silence, please, for the victims of this violence."_

Ron let out a sigh of relief. His throat had tightened up on the name 'Harold Pestle', but he didn't know the unfortunate man. After the moment of silence ended, Kingsley's voice was next to speak.

_"News is grim all around, listeners. The Ministry has fallen under what the insiders term 'the New Wizarding Order', and as you can guess, it's all a front for the Death Eaters that have taken over. I won't lie, they're getting up to horrid business, but there is good news: a recent break-in resulted in several falsely prosecuted Muggle-borns running free. I happen to know that in the resulting chaos, several employees abandoned their posts, though I cannot provide any information more accurate than that."_

Ron leapt up, even as Bill shushed him and motioned for him to sit back down. Kingsley was talking about their break-in to retrieve the locket! And if several employees had left--

"Dad! And Percy!"

"Shh, Ron, sit down! We don't know that yet, and they haven't made contact!"

_"--thing I was able to confirm thanks to inside resources is that You-Know-Who's followers have reinstated an old, particularly nasty bit of magic. A Taboo, the same spell that led to the present fear around the name of the Chief Death Eater, as we will be calling him from here on out. This spell tracks disturbances in a field with a radius at least large enough to contain Britain, though it almost certainly doesn't stop there, and these disturbances are caused by saying, in this case, the Chief Death Eater's chosen name. It will be all the more effective in this war thanks to the long-standing fear of him ensuring that only those bold enough to stand against them will bother to use it. Please avoid using the V-word, for your own safety and that of those around you, or risk being captured by Death Eaters or roving bands of Snatchers, as a Taboo violation will dissolve most known protective enchantments at the site of the disturbance."_

Ron swallowed. If he'd just discovered this sort of radio station a little sooner, he might have been able to let Harry and Hermione know. As it was, though...this was a real weakness. Harry was prone to saying Voldemort's name out of defiance. It dawned on him, then, how they'd been found by Death Eaters at Grimmauld Place even before concocting their Ministry raid. Most of the protective enchantments around the place save the Fidelius must have dissolved when one of them had spoken his name.

_"Any advice on how to handle an era of fear where even the wrong word can put you in danger, Royal?"_

_"There's strength in numbers. Stay together, supplement your weak spots with another's strengths. Use passwords, double-layer your defenses. Beyond that, those of us who are in danger under the regime should leave the country at the soonest available opportunity."_

_"You say you have inside sources, Royal. Have these sources been able to tell us anything about the status of one 'Chosen One' Harry Potter a-and friends?"_

Ron felt a jolt, and then pang. That slip-up had barely been noticeable. Lee had been about to say his and Hermione's names. He liked Lee, but he'd never have ascribed himself equal importance to Hermione, let alone Harry.

_"None whatsoever. Unfortunately, we know he's not traveling with well-known acquaintances. Ron Weasley is currently bedridden with a case of Spattergroit, one of the nastiest conditions I've heard of. The scars will be bad enough, but I understand that the particular strain, Cerebrumous Spattergroit, also affects the brain. I understand it's been a while since a coherent word's come out of him. As for Hermione Granger, she has not been seen since September, and it is believed that she's fled the country. Another moment of silence, then, while we offer our best wishes for Ron's recovery and Hermione's safety."_

During the second silence, Ron breathed a sigh of relief. The ghoul in his bed still had the Death Eaters fooled. He thought back to the Ministry raid; Yaxley had managed to side-along to Grimmauld Place. Had they just assumed the three Polyjuiced individuals were random Order members, then? Hopefully they had; it seemed unlikely that Lee's broadcast would run his cover story when Kingsley probably knew anyway if the Death Eaters had already figured out it was a ruse. Of course, if they were helping to spread those cover stories, all the better. No one who heard this broadcast would be a target for information.

_"Harry, if you're out there, we're with you. Next week's password will be 'Dedalus'--that's all for Potterwatch. Stay safe, folks."_

Dedalus...

"So, what did you think, Ron? You've got a way to keep up with the Wizarding world now."

"Yeah, it's brilliant..."

"Ron? What've you got there?"

Ron had taken out the Deluminator. He was fingering it absentmindedly, having taken it out of his pocket when the name 'Dumbledore' flickered through his mind. In answer, he flicked the wheel of the little silver instrument, robbing all light from the room they were in for a moment and causing Fleur to shriek before returning it.

"Sorry." he mumbled, while Fleur brandished her wand at the doors and windows, "it's what Dumbledore left me in his will. It's called a 'Deluminator'."

Bill didn't hold back his surprise. Ron could tell by his expression that his puzzlement at this was equal to his own, and it didn't make him feel any better.

"Dumbledore left you something in his will? I didn't think you two were close."

"We weren't." Ron answered. "I don't think he ever talked to me except in passing in the hallways on a couple of occasions. It was Harry he was close to. But me and Hermione got left things in his will, too. Rufus Scrimgeour came down to deliver them after the Minstry'd finished stripping them down and examining them."

"Really? What did he leave Harry and Hermione?"

"He left Harry an old snitch and Hermione a book of fairy tales. Since Snitches can remember who caught them, and Hermione's copy was written in runes, we all figured that there was some hidden intention behind them, yanno? But none of us have figured them out yet. I didn't even know what this thing was. Still don't, really."

Bill stared, quiet for a moment.

"Ron? Can I see that?"

The younger brother handed over the Deluminator gladly. He didn't feel much attachment to it, just bitterness and confusion. The elder brother was turning it over in his hands, and looking at the different parts. A minute later, the lights were turning on and off as he tested it.

"Would you mind if I took a look at this tonight, Ron? I won't pretend I'm capable of understanding Dumbledore, but I'm an expert at removing spells and preventative measures designed to keep meddling wizards out. If there's anything hidden inside this little gadget, I might be able to get underneath the protections and figure out what it is."

Ron blinked in surprise. That...was...

"I...y-yeah, sure, I guess. D'you really think there's something in there? I've been wondering if it isn't just some worthless trinket he left me for sentiment's sake."

"Oh, I doubt that, Ron. I'd imagine this was a personal invention of Dumbledore's, he liked to tinker. Thing is, our family likes to tinker, too. Dad and the twins could probably have sat down and examined this thing, maybe even figured it out. But since we can't contact them right now, I'll have to do. I like to think I might could keep up."

Now that he said that, it made sense. Dad worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department for most of his career and was more than capable of taking things apart, modifying them, and putting them back together. Now that that was hitting him, it was igniting a small spark of hope that he had up until now refused to consider.

"Yeah, go on, have a look."

* * *

Ron went down to breakfast the next morning surprised to find that he'd slept very late. He hadn't thought he'd get much rest with all of the worries on his mind, but apparently he'd been needing it badly enough that his body didn't care. What he found when he got down to the kitchen was a surprise, however.

Bill and Fleur were already there, looking as though they'd been expecting him. Like yesterday, Bill had a newspaper in his hand. Ron was about to joke about Bill turning into their dad before he realized that a corner of the paper was visibly burned. This drew his attention closer, and he realized that he couldn't read the words, but there was writing across the newspaper in blue. The look on Bill's face said this was serious.

"Word from our family?" he asked hopefully. To his surprise and excitement, Bill nodded, but he answered the question before Ron could ask it.

"Nothing from dad or the twins, or about them. It's from Charlie."

Ron took a seat, waiting for more information, and his brother obliged him.

"We've taken to repurposing newspapers from the Daily Prophet to get our messages around. Since the Floo Network is being watched and regulated, owl post is being intercepted regularly, and Patronuses can only go a limited distance, this is what we've been reduced to. We use a fairly complicated set of charms and preventative curses, and then place tracking spells along with a fairly simple wind gust charm to blow the paper high and far, even across continents. It's a much slower way to communicate, but it gets the job done, and it's both secure and unlikely to be discovered since the Death Eaters wouldn't think of it even with the Ministry's resources. And this one just came from Charlie."

Ron's eyes widened. "Really? What's it say?"

"Nothing all that new or important, just an update on what's going on at his end. But the important thing is, it's an address you can use. I've been tinkering with the Deluminator all night, and while I think I found some nifty things out, I'm pretty sure I don't have the talents you need. I also don't have the resources. I could do better if I was back at Gringotts, but the 'honeymoon vacation' I'm on isn't ever going to end because the bank is full of Death Eaters now and I'm obviously not able to go back. And without that, all I'm left with is my magical knowledge, which is more geared towards old dusty crypts than fiddling with odd never-before-seen devices."

"So, what are you saying?" Ron asked, squirming. "This is a dead end?"

"No, I'm saying I want you to try another avenue. Charlie isn't any match for Dad in the inventing department, any more than I am, but he's got access to a lot of hard-to-get resources due to his profession. He deals in very valuable items thanks to working with dragons, so between what I was able to find out last night, and whatever Charlie might be able to find out when you meet him, we should be able to solve this little puzzle in the Deluminator Dumbledore left you. I'm saying, I'd like you to go to Romania to visit him."

Ron was still for a moment. Charlie worked at the dragon sanctuary in Romania, which was very, very far from Britain, and also very far from the places he'd imagine Harry and Hermione to be. And while it could be said that the Weasleys were inventive minds, he thought it was stretching it a bit to apply such a statement to Charlie, who was definitely more into caring for animals than magical engineering. Ron wouldn't really put some puzzle invented by Dumbledore in his scarred and dragon leather-clad hands.

Still, it was a start. If Bill hadn't found out anything, pressuring him to keep at it was a useless endeavor. Besides, a part of him really did want to see Charlie again. Although he'd seen him just recently at the wedding, it was still not very often he had a chance to connect with his other brother.

"So...you want me to leave?"

"You say that like I'm kicking you out. I'm not doing that. You can still stay here if you want, we'll always have space for you. I'm just saying, if you really want to figure out what's going on with this little gift from Dumbledore, Charlie is a good logical next step."

Ron closed his eyes. It was almost painful. It would be so easy to give up, to give in and just stay here and wait out the war. To cling to what comforts he had until whatever happened, happened, and left him alone. But...he knew he couldn't do that. He owed it to Harry and Hermione to see this through with them. And maybe Dumbledore was an old crock, but he was a brilliant man who wanted You-Know-Who taken down. His friends were out there struggling, trying to free the Wizarding World. And here he was, clueless as ever, but with some semblance of a direction to go in. That was more than he'd raged about not having back when he was stewing in that tent in the woods. He knew he couldn't just sit here.

"You're right. I guess I should get my things."

"Don't get ready yet. Fleur and I can have some food and supplies for you to leave with if you give us until tonight. Actually, let's give you tomorrow morning."

Ron liked this idea, all the more when his stomach growled and a plate full of eggs landed in front of him.


	2. Romania

_Early morning, October 22nd..._

"Urgh!"

Ron hit the ground on hands and knees, woozy. Everything was spinning, and spinning, and his insides felt like they'd rearranged themselves several times over. He was vaguely aware of drool slipping from his mouth onto the pavement, and then that there was in fact pavement under his palms, but the tight pain behind his eyes and forehead prevented him from caring.

"You alright? C'mon, take it easy--here, gimme your arm. I know, it's not the easiest thing, is it?"

Once he felt like he could stand without throwing up his stomach, Ron shakily got to one knee and extended his left arm, allowing Bill to drag it over his shoulder and pull him into a standing position. Bill was much more composed, though his face did look a bit pale as well.

"Feels like I'm back in front of Twy-cunt learning it all over again."

"Is that the latest name for him?"

What they had just done was what Bill called 'stop-hopping'. Apparition could get you some pretty good distances before it became unreliable, but going cross-continent wasn't a good idea for those who weren't experts, unless you wanted to end up falling off a cliff, getting run over by a car, or splinching yourself right in half. Those who didn't want to risk it 'stop-hopped' their way across, Apparating to closer landmarks one after the other in a rapid succession, only stopping long enough to touch feet on the ground before vanishing again. According to Bill, it wasn't really much more trouble than regular Apparition, even being kind of fun once you got past the dizziness, but the process got complicated and decidedly more unpleasant if you tried to use the Side-Along variation. Ron thought this had been a bit of an understatement; prone to splinching he might be, but he'd thought he'd finally been able to brush off the effects by now. This had been at the same time more constricting and strangling than any previous venture and more dizzying and disorienting than his worst trip by Floo Powder.

"Alright, still got everything? We didn't lose anything in the trip, did we?"

Bill began checking first himself and then Ron, making sure he still had the pack he'd been wearing under his coat with all of the same enchantments on it as Hermione's purse and Harry's mokeskin pouch. Sure enough, it was still there, though some of the food seemed to have been shaken around. His broom was still in there as well, and he felt around to make sure the Deluminator, too, was still accounted for. Then he looked around. They appeared to be in a downtown street of what looked like a muggle city, with some heavy fog around and a few people milling about, but mostly deserted this early in the morning.

"W...Where are we, Bill?"

"We're in Munich. Portkeys are a lot more reliable than Apparition over distances like these, but it's still better to be safe than sorry."

"Portkeys?"

Bill took out the rolled-up newspaper from his own jacket, and Ron saw the burnt corner sticking out of the end. Turning his back on what few people were around and retrieving his wand, Bill tapped it against the newspaper and murmured ' _Portus_ '. It glowed with a faint blue light which then faded. Ron was about to ask one of several questions when he saw his brother stuff the newspaper back into his coat.

"Wha--? Aren't we going? Why are you putting it back?"

Bill gave Ron a quizzical look. "What d'ya mean? It's got to charge, it'll be about fifteen or twenty minutes."

Fifteen or twenty minutes to charge? Ron was baffled for a moment before he remembered the last time he had seen that spell. Of course, it made sense that a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore would be able to perform a spell like that and have a portkey in working order several dozen times faster than any ordinary wizard would. He quietly thanked the man's memory as he realized that his father would likely be dead had an ordinary wizard done so.

"That leaves us just enough time to...yes, let's get a pick-me-up right here."

Ron's brother led him down the street into a diner, inside which a single waitress was pouring coffee for one of three German fellows. They took a booth seat and Bill slid a menu to Ron, who started perusing it as his stomach growled loudly. He shouldn't be hungry, but he hadn't eaten before leaving--Bill had wisely considered that anything they fed him might come back up in the course of the trip. Now that he was properly regaining his senses and shaking off the dizziness, a bit of food was just what he needed to get the rest of the way functioning.

Once they'd placed their orders and Bill had counted out enough Muggle money, Ron tapped his own wand on the dining table, nonverbally casting the _Muffliato_ spell. Bill took immediate advantage of it.

"This portkey will take you to an inhabited village coordinate in western Romania." Bill said.

Ron felt unease strike him as he realized his brother wasn't going to come with him any further, but chose not to vocalize it--he needed to prove some self-sufficiency right about now.

"Once you're there, just unfold the newspaper and let it float away. It'll blow back to the address it was sent from, but you probably can't count on Charlie being there by now. The dragon preserve is Unplottable, and the tracking charms we put on this can't get through, it can only get you close enough. Even without that, the dragon sanctuary is huge, and the rangers staffing it move around a lot even on a day to day basis. I'd advise flying high and going over forests to avoid being spotted by Muggles. Statute of Secrecy's still a thing, however loosely. There's a map of the Romanian regions in that pack of yours, if you get lost. If you need to look at the paper for any reason, " _Atramento_ " is the charm to reveal the ink. Don't worry about rain damaging it, just don't let it catch fire for whatever reason. The going might get rough without a tent or any way to make camp, but I know you can handle it. Have you got all that?"

Ron nodded, even as he repeated Bill's entire speech in his head and felt himself already mis-remembering what he'd heard. He didn't feel like his current bodily upset or his nerves were going to let him retain information well. Unplottable, newspaper floats, fly high over forests, _Atramento_ , map in the pack, don't burn the newspaper...yeah, that was about it, right?

"Are you confident winging it in the wilderness?"

"Did it for a month with Harpo and Harriet." Ron said, not being overconfident in his muffling charm enough to use real names.

"You're confident you can take care of any, ah, instigators?"

This Ron was not; he was a competent duelist and his solo scrape with the Snatchers before coming to Shell Cottage should've reassured him of his fighting ability, but truth be told he'd rather avoid a fight. Nonetheless, he nodded.

"Then once you've eaten, we'll go around back and I'll see you off. Give my regards to Charlie when you see him."

There was silence for a minute, and then a hot stack of pancakes and butter were being dropped in front of Ron. He wolfed them down just quickly enough to not make himself sick, not wanting to chance blowing Bill's charge of the portkey. Bill sipped a coffee as he waited for his younger brother to finish. When the food was gone, Bill went up to pay, being far more competent handling Muggle money than anyone else from Ron's family. They left through the front door, bell tingling behind them, then circled around to a back alley behind the building. Bill took out the rolled-up newspaper, which was beginning to glow faintly.

"Double check everything, hurry!"

Ron ran a quick look through his inventory, and then took the roll from his brother. A quick hug, then a step back, and then the blue light overtook him and he was off, zooming far away at high speed.

* * *

_Two days later..._

Ron opened his eyes slowly. All was quiet, and the forest was dark. Blearily, he rubbed sand out of his eyelids and stayed quiet, listening out for the sounds of intruders, and was satisfied to hear nothing before slowly sitting up. He regretted this instantly, feeling sore from a night on the cold hard ground.

He yawned, and once his eyes adjusted, he could check his watch. Though the sky was a deep dark blue, the sun would be peeking out over the horizons if he were able to see that far. The first thing he did was unfurl his single blanket from around him and check for his pack, which was definitely still there. Satisfied that no one was going to intrude on him, he stuffed both it and the lumpy pillow he'd laid his head on into it, setting it to the side for the moment. He should get going before dawn fully arrived.

Before he could get going, he needed to undo the enchantments around his chosen patch of dirt. He wasn't supremely confident in his ability to build a secure shelter from nothing, though doing so with his companions back in September had definitely left him far from helpless. Last night he had realized how badly he could use a Sleeping Draught, and almost complained internally that neither he nor Bill had thought to pack that for him when he realized what a bad idea that would've been anyway, were he to get ambushed. Not able to count on being able to reach his wand in time were that to happen, nor willing to risk it being stolen with his pack were he to be attacked or robbed, nor willing to risk snapping it like his old one should he leave it in his pillowcase and roll the wrong way in his sleep, Ron had chosen a more unorthodox method of keeping it safe: pointing it at the ground and saying " _Cuniculo_ " to burrow a small tubular hole into the ground long enough to slip his wand into without any of it poking out, then covering the hole with some dirt to make it better than invisible. No one who snuck up on him would be able to find it, but Ron knew what to look for. He dug it out of the ground and set to work undoing his little dome of enchantments, before retrieving both the newspaper and his Cleansweep Eleven from his pack and clasping said pack into the pocket on the inside of his jacket.

Once he was ready, he mounted his broom and kicked off, soaring up into the cloudy sky. Only once he was about a thousand feet up did he unroll the newspaper one-handed and allow it to float free. He had found, when he was following it the past two days, that it tended to go high anyway, and that it was simply easier to follow it at a slow pace than keep track of it from the ground and keep re-summoning it back down. He hoped he was getting close by now, as the air was a bit heavy even up here, and some of the clouds rolling in looked rather dark.

And so began the tedium. It wasn't the fastest way to travel, but there weren't any luxuries in store for this trip. He had been following this lazily floating newspaper for quite some time, and it did tend to get boring as well. Really, that was the worst thing about a wizarding war. Not that he was missing school, least of all headed by Snape and staffed by Death Eaters, but between sitting in Grimmauld Place, and then sitting in that damn tent for hours on end, and now this...he felt like he knew what it was to truly be going braindead from having nothing to do. It made him quite understand the frustration Sirius must've felt all throughout 1995.

One hour passed, then two.

Three hours passed, and he summoned the newspaper back to his hand and landed in order to enjoy some of his canned food. Then it was back up into the air.

Three more hours passed, and he stopped to give his Cleansweep a rest and check his map, wishing it was anything but meaningless to him. He was coming up on a village.

Two more hours in the air passed, and by Ron's watch it was two o'clock in the afternoon. The clouds had not dissipated, instead covering the sky like a deep gray blanket. The air was getting damp.

Another hour, and Ron landed again to eat more food and check his supplies. He might be able to make it another day, longer if he stretched by multiplying them.

Two more hours, and he had passed another village by. The mountains were getting larger and he was coming up on some rather intimidating ranges.

Another hour, and the sun was getting low behind the veil that was the sky. Sunset was but an hour or two away. A droplet hit Ron straight on the nose.

At last, something broke up the silent monotony, but it did not make Ron feel better. He noticed he had been steadily drifting downward for the past several minutes, and the slope was steepening. He was just starting to wonder if this might mean the newspaper wasn't as impervious to rain as he'd been told, when all of a sudden an icy gust streamed over him, and blew the newspaper right past him.

"What the--?"

Ron swerved sharply, turning and speeding off, catching the newspaper as it was buffeted by the wind. It wasn't easy, as it was no longer lazily floating but actually sailing away at high speed and turning mid-air at annoying angles. It was a good thing Ron played Keeper, and not Seeker, with how long it took, but eventually he caught it, yanking on it and bringing it up to his face. He took his wand out of his pocket. The paper had gone dim.

" _Atramento_."

The hidden words shined a bright blue, but rather than fading into mere visible ink as they had before, they now faded again into invisibility. He already knew what had happened, but he let it go again just to see if it reoccurred. It drifted off past him, and he turned around and watched it go a short distance before suddenly being blown right back into his waiting hand. He had penetrated the Unplottable section of Romania where the dragon sanctuary laid.

Which, for all that he could see, did not seem to exist. When he looked down, he saw nothing but a bunch of forests and mountains. There wasn't much horizon to speak of even up here, with how high they had gotten. Several were becoming snowcapped even this early in the cold season.

_Well...what now?_

Landing and simply wandering miles and miles of woods yelling for Charlie did not seem like the brightest of ideas. He could be anywhere in this province, and he'd never cover that much area, and even if he could, the odds of simply running into his older brother were astronomically low. Still, he didn't like the idea of being up here too much longer, either. The rain was starting to pick up, and though Ron had cast an _Impervius_ on himself, it wouldn't do much for visibility--nor did he much like the idea of being struck by lightning. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he swallowed nervously.

Ron thought hard. Stubbornly, he sat there in the air, knowing what he knew and yet feigning stupidity for no one to see. It was very easy to see what he must do, and yet he most definitely did not want to do it.

Charlie was a dragon sanctuary ranger. If he wanted to find Charlie, he would probably find him fastest by finding a dragon.

Where was he going to find one, though? Contrary to what he had so naively imagined when he thought of the Romanian preserve, there were no giant winged fire-breathing lizards populating the skies, soaring about without a care in the world. Thinking back to what he knew from a mixture of tales from home, his Care of Magical Creatures studies, and Hagrid's own exploits, he tried to imagine how best to find a dragon. From what he remembered, Romania was such a draconic hotspot due to its many mountain ranges. Those provided suitable homes for wild dragons, who liked snowy secluded peaks and damp, lonely crags and caves.

There was nothing for it but to start at one mountain and work his way through them all.

 _Crags and caves first_ , he thought. _Like hell I'm prioritizing those shitty snow caps._

* * *

_Of course it would be raining like this when I finally get here_ , he thought. This storm was a grower, not a show-er. The rain wasn't _violent_ yet, but had been steadily picking up, and indeed visibility had dropped like a rock. It was bound to get worse, too. He was having to get much closer than he liked to confirm the things he was seeing. Oddly enough, however, it was rather quiet up here--the sounds of rain pattering on the forested floors wasn't reaching this high up. That didn't reassure him.

This would've been a nerve-wracking task even had it been done in perfect sunshine. The mountains were vast, and there were a lot of them, and the cliff faces and outcroppings didn't make his search at all simple, either. Everywhere he flew, he felt like a dragon could be hiding around a corner. He tried to reassure himself by calling back on his memories of the Triwizard Tournament, and the champions' encounters with their specimens. The eyes were a weak point, and if a fourteen-year-old Harry could fly well enough to escape a Hungarian Horntail, at seventeen he could probably escape from whatever was waiting here for him.

Finally, coming around a cliff face, Ron saw something curious. A bit of white among all the grey and green. As he drew closer, and then landed, he realized it was a skeleton.

His forehead was wet, which he knew to be due to nervous sweat rather than rain due to the repulsion charm on himself. He didn't want to get close, but he did, and was relieved to find that it was a massive animal skeleton--a yak, or an ox. That led him to one of two conclusions; larger dragons simply ate their meat whole, since their stomachs were powerful enough to digest even bone--so this was the work of a smaller (and thus safer) dragon, or it was the work of sanctuary rangers who had gotten hungry and skinned an animal. He felt rather proud of himself even for reasoning that out; flashbacks to the Chamber of Secrets' antechamber full of animal bones had come back to him, and though dragons were fearsome creatures, at least they couldn't kill you by looking at you.

The rain was much louder on the ground. Ron weighed his options; he seemed to be far enough from any muggle settlements that if he could just make himself heard over the rain, he'd probably attract the attention of any wizards lingering in the area. He pointed his wand at his throat and said " _Sonorus_ ", then inhaled deeply.

" _CHAAAARLIEEEEE!_ " he called, hearing his voice reverberate and echo off the rocky cliff even over the sounds of rain. He mounted his broom again, but flew only low enough to scrape the tops of the trees as he continued to call out.

" _CHAAAAAAAAAARRRRLIEEEEE!_ " he called again, and repeated this tactic several times over as he scanned this latest mountain.

As he drifted over a hill and came across another cave, he thought he spotted a light. It was gone in an instant, leaving him wondering if he'd imagined it. But there was a cave, and if there was a chance it was a hideout for some rangers...he drew closer, coming up on its mouth, and peering inside. He hovered low until his feet brushed stone.

"Charlie...?" he called tentatively.

_!!!_

" _Aaargh!_ "

Ron swerved hard, and sped off in the other direction. Rain was turning to steam as a flash of fire caught up with him, and he felt his jacket smoldering and his skin sizzling on the right side of his body. He kept going, hearing the screech of the dragon he'd disturbed, only looking back once he had been going for about thirty seconds and thought it safe to check. He quickly realized his broom's bristles were still smoldering and hastily put it out, and then cast a _Reparo_ that managed almost no change in the now blackened look of his poor Cleansweep.

He had run across a small, but evidently very territorial dragon, having seen its eyes open in the dark of the cave only half a second before it spewed fire at him. Had it not been raining as it were, he'd probably be a human dinner roast right about now. The dragon fire had burnt straight through the _Impervius_ he'd cast on himself.

"Dammit, dammit, _dammit!_ " he cursed, pocketing his wand again. Another run-in like that might not go so well, and who knew how many more of them he'd have before he managed to find his elder brother?

But the rain _was_ picking up. It might be best to pick the first unoccupied cave he stumbled on and simply wait out the storm. The wind was starting to howl, and if he stayed out here much longer, something was bound to go wrong even without any giant fire-breathing beasts. He opened his mouth wide, and yelled out for his brother one more time. Maybe if someone heard him, they'd shoot up sparks from their wand? But there was no answer, and he gave up and murmured the _Quietus_ counterspell. Thunder rumbled overhead.

After some searching, he did indeed come up on a cave, and quite a large one, too, with a mouth rimmed by jagged rocks. Having learned his lesson, he took his wand out when he touched the ground outside, he lit his wand, producing a bright light that he shined into the cave well before dismounting his broom. It didn't light the entire thing, but rather threw shadows everywhere. Something was in here.

Ron did not particularly know why he crept further into the cave. But he couldn't keep flying all night...

 _Go for the eyes, or try to keep it from breathing fire_ , he thought. Eventually he was able to stride forward enough to confirm that what his light was shining on was indeed a rather large dragon, curled around itself and wings folded, scales a shiny grey. It was sleeping, which made throwing a bright light on it a less-than-wise idea. Before he could extinguish his wand, though, Ron saw one of the dragon's eyes drift open blearily. For a moment he sat frozen, ready to turn on his tail and fly right back out of the cave, but the dragon didn't react. It simply closed its eye again and a puff of smoke escaped its nostrils.

For a moment, he sat dumbfounded. How could this dragon, which looked so much bigger and more vicious than the one he'd ran across earlier, barely acknowledge his presence? Dragons weren't docile creatures, and they couldn't be tamed...yet as he looked on this one, he thought he could understand Hagrid's fascination with them a bit more. The scene rather reminded Ron of a sleeping tiger. A vicious maneater, not one that could be domesticated, sure. But also a calm enough creature that could coexist with humans, perhaps. He thought he could see something around the dragon's neck. Was it tethered?

Focusing his light, he realized that it wasn't tied down to anything, but there was indeed a collar of some sort around the beast's neck. It was orange, starkly contrasting the grey scales underneath it. Ron's heart soared--this must be one of the dragons Charlie worked with! He was just ready to look around the cave for some sort of side passage or tunnel he could sleep in when several things happened at once.

The wind started to howl, rushing through the cave and filling it with a piercing echo. The dragon, which had been still, suddenly snorted and began sniffing the air rapidly--its eyes opened again, not bleary but focused and alert. Ron tensed, gripping his Cleansweep tightly and slipping it between his legs. Then, there was a huge, booming crash of thunder that sounded like it had hit right over the top of this cave. It made Ron's ears ring, but it was the dragon springing up onto all fours, faster than he would've thought possible, that made him nearly wet himself. It was twitching and its wings were lengthening over its back. Its teeth were bared, and it looked very angry.

_Guess it's realized I'm not Charlie..._

Ron twisted and kicked off, willing his broom to go faster than he knew it was capable of. There was a crunch of stone being dug out as the dragon advanced on him. He tore out of the cave and immediately angled his broom straight up, right in time to dodge a spurt of bright blue flames that faded to orange as he watched upside-down. He didn't care where he was going, as long as he got somewhere else, fast, but he heard a roar--a mighty, terrible roar that made his blood run cold. It was loud, but not only that, it was _close_. Flattening himself against his broom, Ron sped up into open air, then looked back over his shoulder.

The dragon was chasing him! Ron's panic mounted and his throat tightened. His eyes met the dragon's slits, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He was dead, he was surely dead--flame was spilling like liquid out of the dragon's jaws before it shot another blast at him.

"C'mon! Faster, faster!"

His broom only went up to seventy miles an hour, and it took ten seconds to get there. If he could just reach his top speed--but he had no idea where he was going, he was far too exposed out here, and he couldn't repel the dragon in flight...could he? He was pretty good hitting a moving target--but no, it was doubtful he could get it in the eyes with a Conjunctivitus Curse.

Ron looked down. Heart hammering madly, he pressed his broom to go even faster, and sped into a dive. As he descended towards the earth, he turned up sharply, zooming into a curve and flying through the forest, dodging thick branches and being whipped in the face by smaller ones. There was another roar and he saw the forest light up with some flash of fire from behind him. He kept flying, counting on the rain and the canopy of leaves to hide him.

Only once he heard another roar, still loud but from what must've been half a mile away, did he risk turning around and looking behind him. The dragon was stopped, flapping mid-air. It was only a great shadow at this distance, and what little light was illuminating it from below due to the fire it had started was rapidly diminishing as the rain put it out. Ron hovered, not wanting to breach the tops of the trees and make himself vulnerable. After a moment it started to flap harder, and began to rise and fly away. It was heading in his direction, and he let out a squeak and dropped almost to the ground, watching it pass overhead, yet it did not seem to discover him.

...

Ron started a forward ascent on his broom stick, hesitantly following it. Should he make sure that it got back to its cave okay? But then he spat, kicking himself. Who was he, Hagrid? But then--

There was a brilliant flash of light and a horrendous sound, and Ron thought for a moment he was going to fall off his broom or crash. He yanked upward and braked hard, and he was blinking back stars and his ears were ringing--the roar of thunder only meters away easily shamed the roars of the dragons. Lightning had struck, and he took a moment to realize that the dragon wasn't there anymore. For one dumbfounded moment, he wondered if it had just vanished, but then he looked down and saw a ditch dug through the woods up to where the dragon had crashed in a clearing, smoking. It wasn't moving.

Ron stopped mid-air, realizing that this was, in fact, something to be horrified about. He had been the one that startled the dragon, and if Charlie lost one because of him...that would devastate his brother, and it would probably cost them more than even Fred and George had saved up from their shop. And he wasn't _totally_ heartless--getting struck by lightning was a terrifying idea, and it could've been him. He needed to at least land and make sure it was okay.

Feeling bitterly that he was tempting God's patience with his lack of regard for his own life, he drew closer and landed, wand out, not entirely sure what he would do if the beast woke back up again thirsting for his blood. Maybe instead of a Conjunctivitus, he could use that handy _Obscuro_ he'd learned from Hermione...

He hovered over the ground, not yet willing to land as he checked the dragon over. He was close, much closer than he probably should be. But now that he was, he could see that though it was prone, it was not entirely still--the muscles in its thighs and wings were twitching erratically, though these soon calmed. It was breathing, its huge chest heaving rapidly. So it was alive, then.

But what now? Was he even any where near the rangers whose job it would be to tend to this dragon? How long could he count on it to stay here, motionless? He didn't really know what else he should do to make sure the dragon would be okay, lacking any sort of expertise in the field. Should he even be concerned? Maybe dragons were the sorts of tough beasts that could brush off even a bolt of lightning. Damn, but that was a scary thought...

He pointed his wand at the beast's face. Maybe it was a bad idea, but if he was going to risk himself for one of Charlie's dragons, he thought it probably was an okay thing to want to insure himself against it.

" _Obscuro_." he said.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. When Hermione had used it on Phineas Nigellus' portrait, it had caused a blindfold to appear within the painting, tied deftly around the former headmaster's head. Perhaps that was simply how the spell adapted when pointed at artwork, as what he was seeing now was quite different. Black covered the dragon's eyelids, rather like ink pooling, filling in the gaps between the scales of its ocular plates neatly. Not quite a blindfold, but clearly the spell had worked.

That done, he positioned himself to the beast's side, leaning against its belly. It was very warm, and its breathing seemed to be calming to a slower pace. Maybe it was going to be alright. He could probably wait here for the rangers to arrive, though he had no idea if that was going to be within the hour or even the day. Yet he couldn't leave, or he risked his only chance at them finding him. As he sat there, the dragon gave a sound far different from its roar, a pitiful groan.

There was nothing for it. He would have to wait.

And wait he did. This had been more than enough excitement for his trip--enough excitement for the rest of the year, if he was honest. His hammering heart eventually settled and he found himself, yet again, besot by boredom. Really, this was a million times better than being chased by Death Eaters. As it was, he couldn't even blame the creature for getting agitated with him. At least dragons stopped chasing you after they lost interest.

It must've been ages before he finally saw light. But when he did, there was no mistaking it. One pinprick, then two, then four, then seven...his plan had worked. Lit wands were piercing the darkness. He readied his own. It was highly unlikely that Death Eaters were even in this country, but that didn't mean making amateur mistakes was okay. As he waited, they drew close enough for the light to hurt his eyes when one of the beams was focused on him, and he saw that the group of men was shuffling through the underbrush towards him all were wearing some kind of arm band. Ron swallowed thickly as the leader of the group, a very large and muscular man with a shaved head, spoke to him in a Scottish accent.

"Wha're ye doin' ou' here, son?"


	3. Charlie

"Lumos."

Ron pointed his own now-lit wand at the man who had asked him the question, who squinted, put one hand over his face, and seemed to get the message, re-directing his own wand. Ron roved the light over each newcomer, finding that there were nine of them total. He didn't see any red hair among them. 

"Den' ya 'ear me, lad?" said the broad man in front of him, seeming impatient. "No English? _Te-am întrebat ce faci aici._ "

"I..." Ron started, not having rehearsed what he was going to say and still taking the scene in. Two of the men had walked past and were looking the dragon over, but most were still staring at him. "I'm looking for someone. His name's Charlie Weasley."

At once, the big man who led the group brightened up. "Ah, you must be Bill, then!"

"N-No," Ron stammered, "I'm Ron, Ron Weasley. Charlie's little brother."

"Oh, alrigh' then." said the man, holding out a hand, which Ron took nervously. "You can call me Connor. En tha' case, stand aside jus' a menuh', Ron, while we look this boy ova. Charlie's back at tha camp, we'll take ya right to 'im soon as we're done here."

Ron stood aside obediently and watched Connor lead the others in checking on the dragon, without so much as asking him for his wand or telling him to roll up his sleeve for a Dark Mark. Remaining off to the side, he watched as the nine men, with water visibly sloping off of an invisible barrier some two inches beyond their frames, moved along the dragon's belly and throat to listen for its heartbeat, undid the obscuring charm over its eyes and peeled back a lid to check those, lifted its legs two to a limb to make sure nothing was sprained, slid hands over the wet scales to check for singed flesh, checked the wings for any tears in the folds of skin between the bones, and finally lifted its tail to make sure that neither had it evacuated any waste after being struck nor had its insides been cooked by the bolt. Their professionalism in doing things Ron never would have thought to amazed him; once the dragon was awake enough that it was able to respond by unfurling a long tongue from between its jaws (which was also checked for damage) and licking one of its handlers over the face, the men all lifted their wands and summoned brooms, which began to zoom into the clearing from some twenty yards away, evidently knowing better than to bring wood near an injured dragon. The nine of them began mounting, and Ron mimicked them, looking from curious face to curious face.

"Jus' follow us back ta tha cavern, Ron, an' we'll be back at tha camp righ' quick."

Ron watched as all the nine men encircled the dragon with their wands pointed towards it. Five of them called out "Wingardium Leviosa", whereupon the dragon began to float upward. The remaining four wizards conjured thick ropes from their wands which bound the dragon's limbs and led it through the air as tethers. Ron followed them at a shaky twenty feet as they rose up and floated slowly, carrying the dragon across the sky over the forest back towards the cave it had been sleeping in. He supposed that if you worked on the preserve long enough, you must know these mountain ranges by heart, because he already couldn't remember the way he'd flown to get here.

He paid close attention, however, once they came up on the mouth of the cave where he'd had this ill encounter. The dragon was lowered down onto the ground and released from its tethers, where it plodded quite unaided back into its chosen quarters. Ron watched interestedly as it settled at the back of the cave, looking warily right at him, for all the world as though he'd done it harm. A puff of smoke trailed out of its nostrils. There came a clap on his back, and Ron jumped a foot in the air, realizing with a rather unmanly yelp that Connor was right behind him.

"Come on now, lad, this one's a friend!" he said cheerfully.

The dragon did not make any noticeable changes to its mistrusting demeanor. Connor let this stand for a few moments before sighing.

"Ah, well, can't wen em all. C'mon then Ron, let's ge' you back ta yer brother."

Ron followed him back, and then he was soaring through the air at a much faster pace. Connor's team of rangers didn't waste any time getting back, flying low but fast. Even in pouring rain, the sudden rush of wind and the freedom he felt was exhilarating; he'd spent so long going at a miserably slow pace while following a newspaper and then only going at high speed to escape from angry dragons that it was quite a good feeling to simply be able to go fast, to speed towards something instead of away from it.

He saw the camp once they flew over a low ridge inbetween two mountains. This was possibly the strangest way to discover it, in that it was more visible in the rain than it probably would've been during daylight. A small valley lay before them, circled by a ring of flooding water that was being magically diverted around and away from what was clearly a collection of tents and a shed. The rainwater was being turned towards the far end of the valley where a slope lay that the water could fall down. As they drew closer, Ron saw that it wasn't simply a few enchantments keeping the camp safe: two--no, three--wizards were hovering around the edges of a crude wooden fence, directing the water with their wands. Connor touched down in the center of the camp, followed by his fellow rangers and Ron, who immediately began casting his eyes around for Charlie.

"Everybody, check supplies and then go and help the others with the camp--Marian, go relieve Charlie and send him this way."

All of the other men scattered in different directions, and Ron was left to get down on the ground and double-check his supplies, making sure he still had everything he needed, including the Deluminator. Thankfully, everything was still there. Connor's voice drifted over.

"Not burned, are ya? Don't worry, we've got some salve to spare."

"No, no, I'm fine." Ron said, standing up hastily. He looked around, and spotted a head of ginger hair.

A grin broke out across his face as he recognized his older brother, Charlie, at last. However, Charlie wasn't headed towards him. As he watched, his grin faltered as he saw his brother stroll up to Connor, not even appearing to have noticed him. Ron watched as, casual as anything, his brother put a hand up on the back of Connor's head and pulled him down for a kiss.

_Oh...so that's what..._

Ron fidgeted. It wasn't a long or perverse kiss, just a quick but deliberate lips-to-lips matter, it was just that this was the first time he'd ever seen a man kiss another man. It was also the first moment he'd realized that a lot of the wisecracks Fred and George had been making about Charlie in the long years since he'd left for Romania weren't all purely jokes. He wasn't sure what to think.

"Charlie, your brother's here," came Connor's voice, "says his name's Ron."

Ron could see Charlie's brow furrowing. "Ron?" And then he turned to look at him.

" _Ron!!!_ "

Ron was suddenly engulfed by his older brother, nearly bowled off his feet. In fact, his feet were being lifted right off the ground. Shaking off his vague discomforts at what he'd just seen, Ron smiled and bear-hugged his brother back.

"I've been so worried--ever since the wedding, and you vanished, I--but why are you here? I never heard anything from Dad or Bill about you coming here--"

"Bill sent me, I've been traveling for a couple days. Everyone's alright, last I heard--" he added on, seeing Charlie's face as the obvious thoughts crossed his mind, "but I was actually, uh, hoping for your help with something." Ron said when he was deposited back on the ground. "Was hoping I could stay with you in the meantime."

"Yeah, sure, sure--" Charlie answered, breathless, and now checking him over. "C'mon, c'mon, let's get you to a tent and a bed."

Charlie took his arm and dragged Ron across the grass towards a distant tent. Ron was pulled inside, where he found a spacious setup with a pair of bunk beds and even a small cauldron bubbling with water on a low simmer. Plenty of strewn possessions like gloves and boots laid around these quarters, and Ron was reminded very strongly of the Burrow with a pang in his chest.

"Know what, you can just take the bottom bunk for now--you don't need drying off, do you? Not wet at all? No, course not, is there anything else you need?"

Ron was a little overwhelmed. He was ecstatic to see Charlie, of course, but he felt a strange dizziness that came with so much happening in so short a time. Should he even really bother to get acclimated? He'd have loved to stay and visit, but given the war going on, he needed to be up front with Charlie about what he was here for...and why he was here at all, and not with Harry and Hermione, let alone Bill.

"Actually, Charlie--" Ron said, turning around, but Charlie had already gone, leaving him staring at the empty tent entrance. For a few moments, he simply stood there awkwardly. It was several moments before his brother returned, poking his head through the tent flap to speak.

"Sorry about the mess, little brother. You caught us at a bad time--we've all been so busy today that none of us has had time to set up enchantments to keep the rain out, you'll notice. Actually, we've been thinking about taking on some extra help lately, so do you think you're up for it? You are planning on staying, of course?"

"Yeah, I am, but..." Ron said, then faltered. He swallowed. "Um, Charlie, d'you...d'you think I could get some help from you, too? I-I didn't come for a visit. Really wish I had, but, Bill actually sent me here on business. He reckoned you'd be a good person to ask about something I've got ahold of that's...got the rest of us stumped."

"Of course, Ron." Charlie answered, brows furrowing. "You heard me earlier, didn't you? Anything I can help you with, I'm ready."

"You haven't even heard what I'm asking you, yet!" Ron protested, reaching a hand inside his shirt for the pack that contained the Deluminator.

"Doesn't matter." the elder said, waving him off. "Whatever I can do, consider it done. Now, take this."

Ron barely got his hands up in time to catch what Charlie had tossed him. It turned out to be a wand, crooked and unremarkable. Bemused, Ron checked it over. It didn't have a handle or bear any markings that indicated wandmakers like Ollivander.

"Oi, what's this for? I've got a wand--two in fact."

"Good, keep them out of the way." Charlie answered. "Wands're made of wood, yanno. Not the most durable material when you do our kind of work. We keep about two dozen spares stored in the shed at any time. Not as strong as a proper craftsman would make, but they always do the trick if your old one gets burned. Now if you'll sit tight for a little while, we'll finish up fixing camp for the rain and we'll have some food on in about ten, yeah?"

Ron nodded, swallowing again. To his surprise though, Charlie didn't leave, but rather strode into the tent and pulled him into a second hug. Ron held him back tightly, then felt his hair being ruffled. Charlie's voice was warmer when he next spoke, without the rushed tone he'd had before.

"I'm so glad you're alright. I'm sorry we weren't more prepared for visitors, I just...if we'd known you were coming, yanno? Always wanted my family to visit me here, but no one's had the chance, yet."

"When you wrote about the dragon preserve in your letters," Ron mumbled into his shoulder, "you gave a bit more _grand_ of an impression."

" _Oi_." Charlie said, headbutting him lightly before releasing him, yet keeping a grip on his shoulders. "The ranger office _was_ nice, before it burned down the second time. One day we'll get a proper institute going here. For now, we're roughing it, but I'll expect you're used to that." he said, and his smile faltered. "Now," he continued in a low voice, "I know you're _physically_ alright, but...be honest. Everything's not okay, is it?"

Ron shook his head. His arrival, even if it was a shock, must've spoken enough since he'd come alone. Even Charlie, who he saw even less often than Bill, could tell.

"Well don't worry. You've got a home here, where the Death Eaters won't bother you. You can stay as long as you like, 'til you're ready to get back out there. Now go on, stretch out. I'll bring you back some decent grub."

Charlie patted him on the shoulder and turned, striding out. Ron's sorrowful moment was somewhat ruined when he looked over at the bunk beds in the far end of the tent; funnily enough, only the one on the bottom looked like it had been used recently. The other was completely made and undisturbed.

"Top bunk it is..." he said grimly, wondering if sleeping outside might be the politer option.


	4. Just One of the Boys

"Oi! C'mon lad, up ya geht. Go'a start early, le's go!"

Ron's eyes blinked open. He was more than used to getting up early by now, but Connor's voice was rather loud about it all. That's right, he had promised to help, hadn't he? Shaking himself properly awake, he sat up and looked around. He was on the top bunk, and Connor was peering up at him with a smile on his face.

"Charlie tells me you've go' some expehrience wi' dragons."

"Yeah, well..." Ron didn't think being bedridden from a baby dragon bite when he was eleven really counted as experience, but he wasn't going to correct him on that. "Where is Charlie, anyway?"

"Outside with tha rest of the boys! Budge up an' ge' dressed, I won' ya ta meet everyone."

Connor strode out of the tent, and Ron spent a few minutes getting himself presentable, then checking his pack for everything he could need. Both wands, his own willow wand and the stolen blackthorn one, were still there, as was all his spare food and the Deluminator--not that he'd really expected any of them to leave in the few hours he'd been asleep. He slid down the ladder to the ground, hesitated before walking to the tent flap, and then took a deep breath before pushing it open.

It wasn't yet light outside, but the edges of what little horizon he cold see past the mountains and trees was gaining a very slight pink tinge. Twelve men were outside waiting for him, eleven of them forming a half-circle some small distance from the center of the camp. Charlie stood closer, a large smile on his face as he beckoned Ron closer. Connor broke from the circle to stride up to him, extending a hand. Ron took it, becoming mildly aware as he did so that Connor was _very_ big. Not just tall, but built like a brick wall. He was probably the biggest bloke without any giant blood that Ron had seen so far, out-sizing Charlie behind him, and Charlie was easily the burliest Weasley of the family. As his hand was shaken in a firm, energetic grip, Ron also became aware that he wasn't wearing gloves--that rough feeling against his skin was a collection of callouses and old burns.

"Welcome to the Romanian Dragon Preserve, Ron. Let me introduce you to your fellow staff."

Connor circled around behind him, leaning down over his shoulder and pointing to the man on the far left end of the half-circle.

"That's Oskar," he said, and the man, dirty blond and with a large nose, raised a hand with a friendly smile, "that's Jacques," he said, and a thin brunet man with a ponytail smiled, displaying a silver tooth. Connor went down the line, naming his employees one by one, and Ron was introduced to Erik, Dimitri, Viscent, Ivo, Yiannis, Hazm, Marco, Anton, and finally Marian, the last of whom was a smaller and somewhat nervous-looking wizard at the very end of the line and, as Connor told it, the only one native to Romania.

"And, o'course, you know Charlie."

Ron sheepishly waved hello, earning a cheerful return wave back.

"These'll be yer peers for as long as yer stayin' 'ere. You'll be 'elpin' them out with whatever work they do--assumin' you pass yer exam, o'course."

"W-What?" Ron said, suddenly alarmed. "Exam?" he asked, as a hand on his back pushed him forward towards the middle of the ring of men. "But--I don't know anything about dragons yet. I didn't even finish school, and I didn't take N.E.W.T. Care of Magical--"

"Ron, he's yanking your leg." Charlie called to him. "He means exam _ination_. We love gettin' new men out to help with the preserve, but we gotta make sure you're up for the job."

"Aye, don't want no pansies hangin' off our legs." came a rough voice from who Ron recognized as Oskar.

"He means we want to see your scars." Charlie clarified.

There was a sudden buzz of voices around him, each of the men urging him to show them proof of his toughness.

"Oh..." Ron said. "You want me to..."

‘Uncomfortable’ was perhaps too light a description for Ron at the moment. After seeing how intimate Charlie and Connor had been, it didn’t feel like the wisest thing to go stripping off in front of a crowd of rowdy men who didn’t seem like they’d seen a woman for ten years, nor cared to see any for ten more. Nonetheless, eyes were everywhere, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to excuse his way out of it. Hesitantly, he pulled off his shirt, suddenly hyper-aware that he wasn’t exactly as tall nor as well-muscled as most of the men surrounding him, let alone his new boss.

“Oi!” said the officer Ron recognized as Erik, “Where the _hell_ did you get those?!”

Everyone seemed to crowd closer to him. Ron looked down at himself, and realized Erik was referring to his brain scarring—bands of depressed tissue across his arms, stomach, and chest, from where the film-like rolls of thoughts had wrapped around and constricted him when he’d summoned a brain in the fight at the Ministry a year and a half ago. Ron had gotten so used to them since then that he’d sort of forgotten he had them most of the time.

“Oh, that—” he said, not having thought of a cool explanation for the scars in time. “Well, I was at the Ministry fighting You-Know-Who’s lot—“

“Shit, that’s right,” came his brother’s voice, and Ron looked over to see Charlie clapping a hand to his forehead. “I told all the boys a year ago, remember?” he said, gesturing to his peers, “told ‘em my brother was knocking out Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic! At the Department of Mysteries, no less!”

Ron felt a swell of pride in himself. Yeah, he _had_ done that, hadn’t he? He heard chatter starting up around him as this revelation was discussed among the crowd.

“Department o’ Mysteries?”

“He wos fifteen then, wosn’t he?”

“Blimey, fightin’ the good fight early, ain’t he?”

“I got these from some brains.” Ron said, feeling his chest puffing out a bit. “They’ve got all these weird rooms in the Department of Mysteries, probably have me killed if I told you about ‘em all...it’s probably fine, right? Nah, actually, I better not—“

There was immediately a clamor to hear more. Ron caught Charlie’s eye, which glinted knowingly, and he felt a rush of appreciation for his older brother. His eyes flicked over to Connor at Charlie’s side, who Ron was pleased to find was looking just as curious and impressed as everyone else.

“Alright, so they’ve got all these rooms studying the weirdest stuff, rooms full of clocks and a whole church full of prophecies and the like—“

Soon Ron was launching into a summarized account of his and his friends’ nighttime intrusion into the Ministry and the trap they’d fallen into. Remembering that this event had lost them a good man in Sirius Black kept him from embellishing too many details to engorge his own retelling, with one exception—him summoning a brain under the effects of a powerful Confundus had instead been modified to him simply coming into contact with one when the tank had been blasted off the wall. Everyone stayed thoroughly mystified during his story, and by the time he reached the part where Dumbledore and Voldemort had dueled, there was no doubt he’d secured his reputation among the dragon officers as a badass.

“He’s a bloody hero!”

“I wouldn’t cross him.”

“Bigger balls than any auror!”

A clap came to his back, and Ron looked up, realizing that last one had been said by none other than Connor. He felt red flush his cheeks.

“I think you’ll fit in fine here, kid." he said.

* * *

And so Ron was introduced to a day of work with the dragon rangers. His first day wouldn't involve even leaving camp, and Charlie had happily shown Ron around the place to get him started. There were seven tents that each contained a pair of bunk beds and a small cauldron, and an eighth that contained their food supply, which was cooked in a larger cauldron in a fire pit at the center of camp. There were also smaller snacks for use throughout the day, which could be brought to a ranger's tent for their personal consumption--Ron happily donated his remaining rations to these. All of the tents, plus the shed in which was kept the vast majority of supplies, were layered with fireproofing spells that would hold up even against intensely magical creatures. However, this was about as far as any magical protections went. Ron had questioned the wisdom of this laxity openly; what if Death Eaters or their supporters arrived?

"I get it's rather out of the way of You-Know-Who's beaten path," he said, "but isn't that...asking for trouble?"

"Death Eaters know better than to come here, Ron." Charlie had said. "Dragons aren't like giants or werewolves--no human sapience to back up the savagery, and very little patience with intruders. You can't tame them long enough to commit them to one side or the other."

"Plus they know anyone who cares for dragons for a living isn't someone to be fucked with!" a thickly accented voice had called from the mouth of Dimitri, a Russian man almost Connor's size with much rougher features, much thicker brows, and a much less welcoming smile--the entire encampment had roared their agreement at this.

For the first day, Ron was paired with Marian, the nervous-looking Romanian wizard who was newest to the team after himself, and Ivo, a Bulgarian man who was coming along because Marian's English wasn't great. After introducing themselves properly, Ivo would follow him and Marian around and translate for Ron the different responsibilities for each ranger: dragon care was everyone's duty, but after that, there were certain rangers tasked with egg care, certain rangers tasked with infirm for injured creatures, and certain rangers tasked with tagging and keeping track of the local dragons. Dimitri, Anton, and Ivo himself were registered Healers and specialized in injuries gained from draconic creatures. He learned that Charlie and Connor were the foremost rangers in dragon-related sciences, including their fire breath, their bodily properties, and the use of their body parts by wizards. He also learned that Yiannis and Hazm were specialty crafters who made most of their dragon hide and dragon leather gear, and that Jacques, Oskar, and Viscent knew enough wandlore to be able to make spare wands that wouldn't work as well as a wizard's own chosen wand, but could also be made quickly enough to replace any that got burnt. Erik, Marco, and Marian were clothiers who could quickly replace apparel too burnt or damaged for magical repair.

Ron also learned that the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary spanned some 14,784 square miles and included most of the Transylvanian Alps, and had been established in 1970, making it one of the most recent developments in signficant wizarding history, but also one of the most prestigious--whenever their ranger office burnt down, they were usually able to get funding for a new one. Ron was struggling to remember all of this, as while he was being shown around camp, someone was tending to the center cauldron, cooking up something for breakfast that smelled surprisingly delicious.

Just as the tour ended, Marian, who had been shooting furtive glances at Ron the entire time, murmured something to Ivo, who was smiling. Taking Ron aside by the arm, he said that Marian had wanted to know if it was really true that Ron had flown a car to school, taken on a basilisk to save his little sister, and cursed the Heir of Slytherin so badly he'd gotten permanent brain damage, all at the age of twelve.

"The basilisk was my friend Harry," Ron said, a small sheepish smile forming on his face, "and he wasn't the Heir, he was some crackpot fraud teacher...but yeah, the rest of it's true."

A thrilled look of awe crossed both men's faces. Long past feeling guilty over that last one, Ron felt no need to make any further corrections--Lockhart may have cursed that brain damage into himself, but as he was a bloody predatory git and wouldn't remember otherwise, Ron would take credit for it until the day he died.

* * *

Breakfast was meatier than Ron had been used to, as was lunch and dinner, which explained why most everyone here was so thickly built. By the time he was putting his last plate into a levitating plastic rack for Marco to scourgify, he had learned how to put on dragon hide leather gloves, chest guards, and greaves, and been assigned his own of each; had learned where most of their materials were stored and how to put them up properly; had learned several spells to clear out smoke and reduce burn damage; had been taught a cushioning charm with which to treat all eggs and any fragile objects with before handling them; and had been taught a few properties of dragon's blood and dragon fire by Charlie. At last, after hearing several of the rangers describe their dealings with the preserve's creatures for the day and drinking in all that he would soon be doing, Ron was relieved of any further duties for the day by Connor. As he walked back towards the tent he'd slept in last night, Ron was joined by his brother, for which he was glad.

"How was your first day, Ron?"

The younger brother smoothed his hair over his head and exhaled deeply. "Actually...kind of fun."

Charlie smiled a wide, somewhat relieved smile. "That's good. Was a little worried it'd be a bit much to handle so soon."

"It's fine, Charlie. It's just...not on the best terms."

Charlie looked at him, concerned. "You wanna talk?" he asked, gesturing to the tent flap. "Might do to let me know what it was you wanted my help with, too."

"Yeah..." Ron sighed. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

Once they were in, they sat down on the ground, and Charlie pointed his wand at the tent flap, which zipped itself tightly. Ron pointed his wand also, ready to cast _Muffliato_ , but his brother pulled his arm down gently and said there was no need. At his prompting, Ron edged into an explanation of what had led him here: the wedding, fleeing with Ron and Harry to Grimmauld Place, discovering R.A.B...he didn't feel like it was of vital importance to share what the locket they were after actually was, and simply told Charlie it was an important dark artifact that they needed to get rid of. Charlie was visibly relieved to hear that their father was in one piece at last check, and was likely close to leaving the Burrow for good with Percy and the rest of the family. And after Yaxley, they'd been sent on a seemingly aimless quest, one foot into their journey with no way to get the other foot in, let alone start walking. Ron mentioned how he'd had doubts about Harry, had suspicions about him and Hermione...admitted guiltily that he'd let the locket's dark power influence him, and in the same breath had to admit that it wasn't simply turning him into a git out of thin air, but had been amplifying what he'd already been thinking. He confessed to his older brother how he'd cocked up royally, leaving Harry and Hermione to their fates and trying to scurry back home when things got hard. He hadn't realized tears were in his eyes until they were already spilling down his cheeks, causing him to frantically wipe them on his sleeves.

"Ron," Charlie had said gently when a pause came wherein Ron didn't know how to continue, "you'll find a way back to them. You'll come back to them wiser, and stronger, and if I have anything to say about it, a little more confident. Nobody's perfect, yanno? What matters is that you can fix it."

"But I don't know _how_." Ron groaned, holding his forehead in his palm, "all I've got is some useless trinket from Dumbledore and a few missing fingernails! We didn't have a plan, and...and I still don't have one either, and I don't know where to even begin."

Charlie's brow furrowed. "Dumbledore? A trinket?"

Ron hiccuped, and realized he had completely skipped over the part where Dumbledore had left them things in his will, which he then explained to Charlie.

"Turns out the sword's got basilisk venom in it now, has ever since the end of second year, and...well, I guess the old man knew it'd be useful in destroying those things. But the Ministry got a hold of it, or a fake copy of it, and the real thing is up under Snape's arse. The rest of the things he left us are these, these things, and we don't know what they are or if they even mean anything...but Bill thinks they might." he continued, searching around in his pack until his hands closed around a small metal object. "Harry got an old snitch, Hermione got a book of kid's fairy tales, and I got...this." he said, pulling out the Deluminator. A simple click of the switch demonstrated its powers, plunging the two of them into darkness before restoring the light.

"Bill thinks there's some hidden detail about this thing?" Charlie asked, extending his open hand into which Ron deposited it. Ron nodded. For a few moments, Charlie turned it over in his hands, glancing at it closely. "Ron, d'you know what this is?"

"Er..."

Ron was not sure how to answer that question. He was pretty sure he didn't know anything about it besides its light-robbing powers. "No?"

"This," Charlie said, turning the wheel slightly and watching as the lights in the tent were pulled slightly out of their positions, stretching towards the Deluminator like rubber before being released, "is a Muggle invention. They call these 'lighters', and they use them to make fire."

Ron watched as Charlie lifted his wand and flicked it mid-air, and then his mouth dropped open as a bunch of miniature metal components formed, and a translucent plastic barrier formed around them that Ron could see filling with liquid. It was almost identical to the metal silver instrument in his other hand, which he put down in time to grab the new one. He flicked the wheel, and Ron saw a small flame appear above the tube in response.

"You were smart to bring this instrument to me, Ron." Charlie said, flicking his wand and vanishing the homemade lighter. "I think I definitely have a leg up on the other Weasleys when it comes to fire, don't you?"

Ron was lighting up just like the little Muggle tool.

"You're saying you can figure this out?"

"I'm saying I can try." Charlie answered him, taking hold of the Deluminator again. "I can't promise it'll happen at all quickly, but I can definitely poke around and probably figure some things out. You can stay with us for as long as you need to 'til I've got it done, alright?"

"Deal." Ron said, feeling elation that he probably shouldn't. This was already well more than he'd have figured out on his own. "Definitely a deal."

Charlie pulled him close, and Ron smiled into the third hug, heart feeling warm.

"I'll get started tonight. While I'm at it, tomorrow, I'll head down into the nearest village and try and pick up some artifacts, something or other that'll help me take this thing apart and look at its innards. You don't worry about it, just get your work done, eat good, and sleep well, got it?"

"Thanks, Charlie."

"No problem, little bro."


	5. The Beast Tamer

"Alright, let me zee..."

Ron sat still on the grass as the gauze around his leg was unwound. Previously damp with some viscous liquid prepared the previous night, it was now simply a dry kind of sticky that felt distinctly annoying but nothing more as it was unwound from his limb. The day before yesterday had been his third day exploring the mountains with a team of wizards and learning the nearby regions, and naturally Ron had come away with some burns. Well, perhaps 'naturally' was stretching it--on his request, he'd been reintroduced to Norbert, or Norberta now, the Norwegian Ridgeback that had been born in Hagrid's cabin and then sent to live here in Ron's very first year at Hogwarts. Quite unwisely, he'd decided to get a closer look, just to see if it really was the same dragon, and had come away regretting it. This had simply convinced his new coworkers that the next area he needed a day or two to pay special attention to learning his way around, was medical treatment, and to that end he'd spent yesterday in the care of Dimitri and Anton--Ivo had to go with the others to heal on the go.

Sure enough, when the gauze came away, his leg was completely undamaged. It rather reminded him of Madam Pomfrey's work in the Hogwarts hospital wing, though that was perhaps underselling it, given how long it had taken him to recover from baby Norberta's bite.

"Why don't you guys get rich selling this stuff?" Ron asked, eyeing the mortar and pestle in which this seeming miracle salve had been concocted last night.

"Becos, iss very difficult to make." Dimitri said, disposing of the gauze and helping Ron to his feet. "Couldn't make extra to sell. Not to mention, damn near useless to treat anything but dragonfire burns." he said, chuckling. "Couldn't heal a singed brow if a dragon did not give it to you. So ees not very sought-after on de market. Here, your gloves."

"Hmm? Hang on, are you taking me out again today?"

"Me? No." Dimitri answered. "You'll return here each evening for study. Today, you vill be apprenticing under Connor."

"Oh." Ron said apprehensively. Though he was beginning to get past how intimidated by Dimitri he was, Ron still was not sure how fond he was of the idea of working alongside Connor, even several days in. All of the other men of the camp seemed to defer quite clearly to him, despite him being younger than most of them, in a way that spoke of respect borne of more than an official position. He had a feeling that 'apprenticing' under the man directly came with the risk of much more dangerous work.

"Vhy you look so vorried, boy? Nothing bad vill happen to you under his care."

"Well..."

Okay, so maybe that wasn't the _only_ reason he was nervous about being alone with Connor.

* * *

"Ron!" came the cheerful boom of the head ranger's voice as the teenage wizard strolled up. "Good ta see ya up, ready ta get going?"

Ron was about as ready as he was going to get. Connor was wearing a dragonhide vest that noticeably lacked sleeves, showing off the fact that his entirely too-thick arms were covered in the same shiny burns that layered his hands. One of those hands was extended, and Ron took it again, feeling slightly diminished as he shook it for the first time as a part-time sanctuary ranger.

"Er, yeah, I'm ready."

For his own part, Ron was dressed in some simple clothes provided to him with his own dragonhide vest, gloves, and greaves, the last of which were newly crafted and should prevent any more consequences like the one he'd earned a couple days ago--plus a new pair of thick, cleated boots that hopefully wouldn't be burned right through this time. He also had on a coat over his topside clothing, as it was getting rather cold out now and that was only going to worsen as they flew into the skies. On his head were goggles for smokeproofing, in his hand was his Cleansweep, and in his breast pocket was a dragon heartstring wrapped in wood.

"Leh's ge' going then. You stick wi' me, we're goin' ahead of the rest."

Following Connor's lead, Ron kicked off from the ground in the center of camp, rising high into the air towards the sky. The clouds overhead were a gentler grey than on the occasion it had rained all night, but it was still impossible to see the sun through them.

"Snow's comen' soon!" Connor called back to him as he headed north. "We'll wanna finish thes before i' starts really comen' down!"

"What exactly is 'this'? Ron called back.

"Mama hen's flown the coop!"

" _What?_ "

"A mother with eggs 'as abandoned 'em." Connor said, having stopped high in the air to survey the land below them. "No' unusual for cer'ain breeds'a dragon ta be less than spectacular parents, but i's _real_ unusual for a motherin' one to jus' leave 'em. We need ta track 'er down an' ge' 'er back to 'er nest if we can."

Ron saw Connor look down, and followed his gaze to see men on broomsticks rising into the air underneath them. He wasn't able to pick out faces at this height, but he could count ten heads. Charlie was staying behind, as was someone else to watch camp. He turned his attention back to the burly man at his side, who was now pointing a wand. As the younger man watched, it was pointed in one direction and sent out a jet of red light, brilliant crimson smoke trailing behind it as it flew off into the distance at high speed. He pointed it another direction and another flare, this time orange, was sent off. Five times total he did this with a different color each. Below them, the ten men were each splitting off into pairs and following one of the flares. Connor turned his broom around in a circle and, once he was reoriented, started flying fast, Ron tailing him at a short distance.

Nothing was said for some time, save a single directive for Ron to stick close and keep his eyes peeled. As they continued northward, a light fog began to obscure the surroundings, and sure enough, small flakes began to fall, one hitting Ron right on the nose. Though the green forests underneath them were still clearly visible as they looked down, the mountains were beginning to look like immense looming shadows. He couldn't see a line between the sky and the clouds anymore.

After a while, Connor motioned to him and began to descend, and Ron did the same. They landed on a cliff set against a ridge of sharp crags, and the teen felt his nervousness spike again as the same apprehension that had affected him his first night in these ranges resurfaced.

"Righ'," Connor told him, tapping his broom with his wand, which shrank down to the size of a very sturdy pencil and was stowed in the pocket of his vest. Ron did the same, making sure to remove the wand there so as not to get them confused, and eyed him closely. He was seeing no signs of any shivering, given how cold it was to be going around sleeveless. "We're very near where tha nest of eggs es. Firs' theng's first, we're gonna make sure they're stell there and safe, then star' lookin' for Mama. I go' a good idea o'where she might'a gone, bu' I'm no' too sure. One o'the others will shoo' up a flare if they find 'er, an' we'll do tha same, go' it?"

"Er, yeah, I got you..."

"Then stay here for jus' a moment."

Ron watched as Connor pointed his wand at a rock spire nearby. An orange cable of light shot out, clinging to the spire's tip, and Connor strode over to the cliff face and leapt right off. Ron didn't worry, as he was familiar with this charm, and sure enough when he looked down over the edge, the head ranger was exploring a crevice some seventy or eighty feet below. He disappeared behind some rocks, from where Ron could see wandlight flickering into life. That, too, disappeared into the depths and did not return for about two minutes. When he came wandering back out, Ron backed up so that the stretchy cable shot from his wand hit the spire and not himself. Bungeeing by the cable, Connor sped up past the cliff edge and sailed onto solid ground.

"Eggs're all stell there." he clarified, dusting himself off.

"So, where d'you think the mum is?" Ron asked, bemused. "Why'd she even leave in the first place?"

"Cahn't say." Connor answered. "Et's a small species of dragon, and they're fierce abou' their eggs. Et's rare for 'em to leave 'em even if a bigger, meaner predator comes round. Bu' tha's the only idea I go', sence tha eggs are all healthy and she wasn't stell pregnan' when we las' checked 'er."

Then, he pointed his wand around the edge of the mountainside.

"If she did turn tail and run from something attacking, I s'pec' she'd have gone tha' way. Nice ridge with plenty'a hidin' spots. Follow me."

Ron did as he was told, trailing behind Connor and watching his movements carefully. As they wound around the side of the cliff, the face leveled out into a slope, and Ron could see what he meant. Rough steppes led down the mountainside, hidden by underbrush, and nothing in the distance visible past thickening fog. Lines of ridges carved into the mountain like sutures wound their way into a cold valley whose treetops were starting to collect frost. The bigger man held out a hand and offered his assistance down the nearest slope, which Ron took hesitantly. Slowly, they made their way down the slope until outcroppings of stone created a rather vast forest of its own. Ron got the impression that a thunderous landslide had occurred here some eons ago.

"Alrigh', Ron--you're too new at this ta catch the emportant thengs, so I wan' ya ta flick yer wand and say ' _Claresco Premo_ '."

Ron lifted his wand and did as instructed, saying the incantation and hoping he'd gotten it right--he'd not really had a chance before now to hear what spells sounded like in Connor's thick Scottish accent. To his surprise, the tip of his wand glowed lime green and he felt an odd tingle pass through him, and the world around him seemed to have been thrown into sharper focus. It wasn't quite that his vision had improved, but rather like everything had been shadowed over, or given a thicker outline. He was noticing things in the surrounding rock and trees that he wouldn't have before. As he moved his wand, the effect seemed to follow the soft green light emanating from it, showing him claw marks lightly scratched into the stone.

"Hey, I can see--!"

"Yep," Connor answered, "an' keep an eye out for more. Tha' could be anythin'. We're lookin' for distinct marks. Big gouges, an' 'specially scorch marks. You'll 'ave no'iced fire is a dragon's typical go-to defense."

 _Yeah, I definitely noticed that_ , Ron thought.

Silence settled over the two of them as they set about searching. Overall, with the help of the relief-sharpening charm he was using, searching was easy...and unproductive. The fog wasn't so thick that it impaired his efforts, nor was the snow falling heavily enough to be a concern. He could be grateful, too, that there was no howling wind, or else his strained ears might miss whatever sounds a prowling dragon made against rock. Though they spread out bit by bit, he never strayed very far from Connor.

And yet, the silence began to loosen him. The more nothing he found, the more his thoughts began to wander. Yes, he _should_ be focused on finding a runaway dragon, but could he really do that with the memory of Charlie kissing this hulking brute bouncing around the inside of his skull? That wasn't all he was thinking of, either. Where were Harry and Hermione right now? What were they doing, and were they safe? What about Ginny, stuck in the castle with Death Eaters teaching?

_Just keep looking. Is that a burn mark? No, just a rat dropping. But there's another claw marking..._

An owl hooted somewhere. Ron thought of Errol.

"Erm."

He probably shouldn't even have opened his mouth, but now that he had, he had to say something.

"Go on."

Connor seemed to know that Ron wasn't speaking up to report on their search. Ron took a deep breath, trying not to murmur or stutter the question he had settled on.

"You, uh...you know Hagrid, then?"

"Rubeus Hagrid?" Connor said, and when Ron looked back, he found the corners of his boss' mouth twitching into a smile. "We all know 'im, o' course. You're not the firs' one Norberta's given a bit o' trouble to. She's a fierce one. I heard he became a teacher in the las' few years, that righ'?"

Ron would never have thought he could possibly ache with nostalgia at the thought of tending to Blast-Ended Skrewts, but here he was. Words seemed to tumble out of his mouth before he could stop them, much less carefully arrange them.

"W-Well, I...I was wondering--I didn't realize how illegal it probably was, at the time--we all owe Charlie for that one, doing us that favor, coming all that way--I mean, you sent him, probably, right?"

"Me? Nah, I wasn' Chief Ranger a' tha time--go' the job a couple years la'er when tha poor chap took a bad fall and go' crisped. Nah, I was back here. Charlie an' I weren't a thing back then. Didn' know each other too well."

Connor seemed just as bored with the silence as Ron was sick of it, and this did not encourage him. He didn't know why he was this nervous talking to the man, but he felt very small trying to do so, like a rat trying to have a conversation with a wolf.

"Oh." And there was another moment's silence. Ron's green wandlight threw the rocks into sharp relief, but he didn't take in their features. "D...D'you think...?"

There was further silence, though Connor was definitely still there.

"D'you think it...might be possible..." Ron took a deep breath and exhaled, focusing himself. "D'you think it might be possible to send a message to Hagrid? And maybe, yanno by extension, my little sister?"

When he next faced the ranger, Ron saw that the smile on his face had become sad.

"I don' think tha's a very good idea, Ron." he said apologetically. "Hagrid's in a very vulnerable position. I can' think of any way we'd contahct 'im withou' ge'in' noticed. He probably wouldn' be able to figure ou' the charms on our paper messages wi'out bein' in on it, an' if he were ta get caught, le' alone with notes askin' about a Weasley, well..."

"I get it." Ron answered, now thoroughly depressed.

Silence returned to hang over the two of them as they walked through the outcroppings, though this one stung too much for Ron to let it hang. Awkward conversation was quickly becoming a favorable idea. This time, he steeled himself and took the deep breath _before_ initiating.

"What about you?" he asked. "Your family, I mean."

"Wha' abou' em?"

"I mean, do they approve of..." Ron said, struggling to frame his question, "...you know, you..."

"Working with dragons?" Connor said brightly, and his attitude was so painfully genuine Ron almost didn't want to correct him, "They love it! No' like they'd have a choice if they dedn', though, they know I'm a stubborn--"

"No, no!" Ron said, cutting him off as he finally looked away from the most fascinating blank stone shard yet. "I mean, how do they feel about you d..." Inhale, exhale. "...About you dating a man?"

He could hear his own heartbeat in this latest looming silence.

"Well, they dedn' love it. Said a lotta harsh things, o'course. But wha' I said stell stahnds. Cahn't do nuthin' about it, an' they know be'er than to try. I go' all I need righ' here."

Ron had just been about to apologize for very clearly crossing a boundary, but that last sentence stopped him short.

Charlie wasn't Ginny. In fact, Ginny probably had a leg up on most of the Weasley men for how experienced she was with dating, whatever Ron thought of her doing that at such a young age. But Ron couldn't apply his protective attitude towards her to an older sibling, and even if he thought he could, he wouldn't know where to begin with a situation like this. Bill was so far the only one to actually hold a steady relationship...unless this thing between Charlie and his boss was real. Which, judging by what he'd said, it might just be.

"Erm...okay." Ron said, not really sure how he should respond, or if he even should. But he kept moving anyway. "I guess I mean to ask...if it's not, you know, too much...how you and Charlie happened? Er, I mean, why Charlie?"

Connor was looking squarely at him, and his smile was dropping off a bit into...not quite a frown, not quite a grimace. Both of them had stopped moving, neither pretending to search for the dragon anymore.

"I take it Charlie hasn't mentioned me in his le'ers?"

There was no tone of disappointment nor surprise.

"I...well...no, no, not really." Ron said, swallowing harshly. "I don't think that means anything, though!" he said hurriedly. "Charlie doesn't write that often, and he's usually--"

"Calm yourself down, kid. I don' expect Charlie to wri'e about me. Probably be'er if he doesn't. Jus' mean' tha' i's showin', ya know? You look like you're abou' ta bi'e yer tongue off and swallow it, guy. If you're concerned, I'm with Charlie 'cause he's a righ' sweet guy, good ta tha core, cu'es' thing on Earth...an' if he doesn' talk 'bout me at home, it's probably for a good reason. 'Spect it's just a ma'er of privacy. Alla those details don' feel necessary when ya alrea'y live half a con'inen' away."

Though Connor's accent was quickly breaking down into something utterly foreign to him, Ron was pretty sure he got the gist of it. He saw Connor swallow thickly this time before finishing.

"We've been together four years." he said softly.

Ron was finally silent for good at this information, feeling that anything he could say would only damage his case. He wasn't even sure by now what he'd really been after with those inquiries, nor what he was to do with the information he'd gotten. Certainly he'd gotten more than he really needed. Perhaps he should've gone with the blunt but ultimately honest ' _you're fucking my brother, aren't you?_ ' that had first occurred to him and summarily been discarded.

They continued their walk through the quiet valley, Ron having to re-light his wand with the accentuating spell as it had gone out during their discussion. For a time, they explored in silence, while Ron reflected on what he'd learned.

Maybe Charlie, like himself, was running away. He didn't really consider the details of who Charlie fooled around in bed with his business, it was just that this wasn't how he would've expected to discover the truth. Was he the only one late to realizing it? Fred and George's wisecracks in his youth lingered in his mind. Had Charlie deliberately left England and gone far away so that his private life would stay private? Did Mum and Dad even know Charlie was...? He found it difficult to believe the topic of romantic pursuits had never come up between his parents and his second-oldest sibling. But even then, fierce though his parents' tempers could be, and familiar with how hard Molly Weasley could dig her heels in against a relationship she found unsuitable...Ron found it even more difficult to believe they'd be anything but accepting. Sitting here wondering, he couldn't allow himself to consider that Charlie had actually been estranged from the rest of them all this time. That would never happen. But if that wasn't the case, why had he never even heard of Connor until he'd met him last week?

 _Maybe there doesn't have to be some huge reason_ , claimed a small voice in his head. _Bill went all the way to Egypt just to do what he loved. Charlie doesn't have to be estranged just to want to live and work and date a long way from home._

And while that small voice was probably right, Ron thought dourly that it only left him yet another way to be envious of his brother.

"Ron." came a sudden sharp call from Connor. Ron turned, and saw the Chief Ranger pointing at something in the distance. He realized that it was a tree, some thirty feet away, blacked and leaning against a boulder.

* * *

"This way."

Ron followed Connor at a distance, unsettled. The ridges and crags they were traveling down were indeed laden with scorch marks and rather deep gouges that spoke of vicious violence. Yet, nothing in the area was totally destroyed. Did that mean that the dragon hadn't fought after all, or at least that whatever fought it hadn't been as big as it was? Perhaps it had just been a chase instead, with the dragon failing to capture its quarry?

They were entering a very narrow set of crags, not much more than a ditch set into the rock that ran down quite a length and curved at least once. Connor turned back to Ron and gestured him closer, then made a shushing motion. ' _Stay behind me_ ', he had mouthed. This hadn't reassured Ron either.

Eventually, they passed a bend, and now Ron could hear it--shallow breathing. It was echoing slightly off the rock walls surrounding them. Whatever was making it wasn't that big, but was clearly either in pain or ready to cause pain. They turned the bend slowly, both with wands out, and Ron saw, past Connor's broad outline, what was making it.

Yellow eyes turned red from bloodshot peered out of the small alcove in the rock. A savage growl ripped through the air, and there was a flash of something orange spilling at lips covering a maw full of teeth.

Ron threw his arms up, but he needn't have done so--there was a huge burst of hot air flowing past him, but the jet of fire had been deflected, conflagrating against the rock wall to his right. There was a screech, and a clattering of claws on stone, and he had pressed himself up against that exact wall not an instant too soon. The beast had come charging forward, right at Connor.

Connor, however, was ready. Completely uncaring of any scales or spikes, the ranger had met the beast's charge with open arms, quite literally. There was a collision, and Ron, eyes nearly popping out of his head, saw him leap up and dodge a maw full of teeth aimed at him, and twist in mid-air, tightening arms around a neck as thick as both of his thighs. There was a thud and another screech, along with a flapping of wide, eight-foot wings against the stone surroundings. A large tail thrashed around, nearly catching Ron right in the head.

"Incarcerous!"

Thick metal chains sprang into existence around the wrestling beings. The small dragon's limbs were instantly manacled together, as was its tail, but its wings were problematic, still thrashing about. There was another flash of fire, spraying into the surrounding area but not able to hit Connor, who was just out of the flames' range. Ron was still motionless, unsure of what to do.

"Ron! Send up a flare!"

"Wha--? Oh, right!"

Ron fiddled with his wand, nearly dropping it twice before he managed to get it pointed into the air and sending up a bright red glowing flare that would hopefully attract the other rangers. There was another screech, but by the time he looked down, the beast was limp and its wings, too, were bound in chains. Though it quickly started to struggle again, it was now helpless, as its jaws were bound together with smaller chains as well. Connor stepped back, examining his handiwork, and Ron took a moment to let the fact sink in that he had just watched a man actually wrestle a dragon, and win.

The Chief Ranger knelt down to look the beast in the eye, and Ron hesitantly strode over, observing. The sight was...grisly. Ron wasn't one to appreciate chained-up animals, but he had to admit he felt better for this one being bound.

It was truly small for an adult dragon, roughly twenty-five feet from tail tip to nose, and its scales were a mottled brown flecked with dark red. The red, Ron realized, was blood--several scales had been torn off and there were odd claw marks in its hide. With eyes traveling up to the beast's head, Ron locked gazes with it, and took an instinctive step back. The dragon's eyes were full of not just animalistic rage, but _hatred_.

"Ah, there et is."

Ron's gaze followed where the boss' finger was pointing, up to the top of the beast's head. There appeared to be a large vividly pink-ish red crest situated right between its brows. Ron was confused on why he was pointing to this, until he realized it was pulsating slightly.

"Parasite." Connor clarified. "Attaches to strongly magical creatures, like dragons, and starts feasting. Trouble is, et also tends to drive up aggression levels. My guess es, Mama 'ad a struggle once this thing crept up on 'er, an' ran away from 'er nest of eggs so she wouldn' hurt 'em. You see tha enjuries on 'er? Self-inflicted."

Things were indeed starting to line up, and Ron's heart ached for the creature, though it still unnerved the hell out of him. Connor then pointed his wand at it, but Ron held up a hand and cleared his throat, feeling that he should at least do _something_ on this trip to justify coming along, as all he'd done so far was watch and do nothing. Connor raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah? Go ahead then. Ya need to make et relax and loosen e's grip before et'll pop off safely, though."

Ron circled around the dragon, whose nostrils were emitting curls of smoke and whose eyes were following him loathingly. Once he had a good vantage point and realized that the vibrantly colored crest was much more obviously not a natural part of the beast, he pointed his spare wand at it. It had several legs embedded in the skin covering the poor beast's skull, but no visible eyes or mouth or...anything else, really.

"Stupefy."

A small jet of red light shot out of the end of his wand and hit the faceless creature, which recoiled and shuddered. A few seconds later, it was still pulsating, albeit somewhat slower. Ron looked at Connor in confusion.

"Et worked, but these thengs sleep wi' their hooks sunk in. Try somethin' else."

Clearing his throat, Ron tried again.

"Relanguesci."

This seemed to do the trick. The legs twitched, and retracted, not yet coming out of the pierced flesh but visibly loosening up.

"Relashio."

With a flash of white light, the disgusting creature was hurled out of its embedded position, smacking wetly against the wall. With a loud squelching sound, it was immediately stomped on.

"Would've preferred ya not ta do tha'," Connor said, disapprovingly eyeing the mess that had used to be the sickening creature, "we're s'posed ta study anything not commonly known ta tha Magical Beasts Division."

"Yeah, well..." Ron said, not having an answer nor caring to formulate one. If he wasn't in a huge amount of trouble for it, he wouldn't feel bad about it. That little creature had reminded him of something quite ugly he used to wear around his neck that made his aggression levels rise, too. He circled around to peer the dragon in the eye again, and was surprised and disheartened to find that its demeanor hadn't changed one bit.

"Don' worry abou' her." Connor said, sensing his disappointment. "Give 'er a couple hours to get tha toxins outta her system, and she'll perk up righ' quick."

"What do we do now?"

"Wai' for tha team ta get here--can't transpor' her on our own."

They weren't waiting long; Ron's flare seemed to have worked well. Within five minutes, brooms were descending on them, carrying men with their wands out. All of them seemed disappointed to find that the issue had already been taken care of, though none of them expressed any surprise with how Connor had handled the beast, only roaring with laughter. Ron did not share in it.

The small dragon was given the same treatment as the one Ron had been introduced to on the night he'd come here, carried mid-air between four wizards. The rest looked Connor and Ron over and chatted with them on the way back to a safe clearing close enough to the dragon's nest that it could easily find its way back once it had calmed down somewhat. As they were flying slowly, Ron heard quite a lot of praise; some of it was aimed his way, and he just shrugged. He hadn't done much. Most of the winning words, and rightly so, were showered on Connor. Apparently, this was only just the latest in a string of badass displays on his part, and most of them had learned to expect nothing less.

Ron thought bitterly to himself that he was glad Charlie had never saw fit to bring Connor home to the rest of the family. _Would've just been another person to measure up to..._ Though, he immediately regretted this. He knew he was reacting too harshly, more to his own internal upsets than anything. ...But that still didn't make it easy. _  
_

At the very least, the small dragon's expression had turned less baleful towards Ron once they finally released it. Its wounds had been treated, and its chains had been dismissed. He continued to watch it with a blank expression on his face for some time, being the last to fly off and having to catch up quickly. The group met up back at camp, and three of the men immediately got busy with crafting a meal.

"D'you guys have a radio?"

Though the expedition had seemed to take a while due to how tense and, on Ron's part, awkward it was, the actual mission only took half an hour. They had an entire day ahead of them, and as they were taking a quick break before setting out again, Ron wanted to use it not just to eat, but to check a certain station.

"Hmm? Ah, yes--I think someone's got one..." Jacques said at the center of a circle of men all eager to get breakfast. "Hazm!"

A Syrian wizard nodded and got up, dislodging from his circle and running back to his tent. When he came out a few seconds later, he was holding a small pocket radio. Ron thanked him and took it back to his own tent that he shared with Charlie...and friends. Closing the tent flap behind him, he sat cross-legged on the floor and set the pocket radio in front of him, tapping it and saying 'Daedalus'.

" _Good evening again listeners, and welcome to Potterwatch!_ "

Ron listened intently to the broadcast, having missed the voice of Lee Jordan over the past week more than he could've realized. It took his mind off of his own questions and turmoils, though only briefly. He carefully absorbed all of the information he heard, but did not catch anything about any members of his family, nor Hermione and Harry. He wasn't sure if this made him feel better, or worse. There was an ugly pit in the center of his stomach.

He should go return the radio now. He'd learned nothing new, and the situation evidently hadn't changed.

"Ron!" came a voice calling to him as he crossed the camp. He looked up to see Charlie, grinning. The pit in his stomach squirmed. "Connor says you did great out there, today! He's wanting to take you around the full mountain ranges and show you more to do with the bigger dragons!"

 _Great_ , Ron thought, _I get to spend more of today with the beast tamer._

But he didn't let his face betray his thoughts as he smiled back.


	6. Thunder

After two weeks at the dragon sanctuary, Ron was starting to become fairly acclimated. Once he had gotten to know everyone, it wasn't too dissimilar to being back in the Weasley household--many brothers all surrounding him, greeting him warmly each day and looking out for him where they could. Connor and Charlie even reminded him somewhat of parents, with Connor being the fun-loving, somewhat lax father. Charlie, who didn't hold any official authority position in the establishment, was nonetheless deferred to as 'sir' by the others, in rather more serious fashion, and this dynamic made Ron snort when he realized it was reminding him of his mother. Now that he felt like part of an odd little family, he thought that Charlie must feel the same way, and thus it was easy to dismiss his former worries about his older brother's standing among the Weasley family.

Working with his brother was doing a lot to mend his other woes, as well. Charlie was an unceasing force of positivity, constantly looking after Ron as he showed him the ropes, and once shifts were done, chatting with him in his tent and asking questions about Ron's life back at the Burrow for the past few years. For some reason he couldn't explain, he found that it was easier to talk to Charlie about his problems than it would have been with Bill, even though he knew the latter would've understood just as well.

There was still some discomfort here and there, of course. Try as he might not to be a third wheel, Ron tended to enjoy Connor's or Charlie's company purely one-on-one, swiftly excusing himself on the occasions they ended up being three. He rationalized this as giving the couple space, though it was obvious he was the only one at camp who felt the need to do so. He hoped he wasn't coming off as bigoted or judgmental--open about their relationship the two men might've been, but he'd seen sappier, more dramatic relationships in his time. He couldn't help but notice that on two or three of those awkward occasions he'd walked in on them in the same tent, they'd had their heads together and been murmuring, quickly stopping when intruded on. It took the younger brother a while to realize why this made him uneasy; at first having compared the behavior to Fred and George when they'd been up to mischief, he'd eventually realized with a jolt and a pang that it actually must've been how he and Hermione had looked back when things had been...stressful, during the Horcrux hunt. This had made him resolve to eventually confront Charlie on the matter, if only to assure him that he approved and would never, ever think ill of him.

Aside from those matters, he was starting to look forward to the work these days. He had mostly memorized the landscape and layout of the preserve by now, although he hadn't had any close-up encounters with dragons since the one Connor had wrestled, and certainly none with any larger, more dangerous dragons--not since arriving on the preserve. He strongly hoped that when it came time to do so, he could be on a team with his brother. To his happiness (well-hidden with a casual coolness), such an opportunity was indeed scheduled, though to his dejection, it was swapped out last-minute.

"Charlie's not coming today?"

It was the morning of an earl grey day. Ron was trudging through the fresh snow covering the camp towards Connor, who had just spoken up.

"Nah, said he needed ta go enta town ta buy some thengs. Thenk he's going to be mos' of tha day ge'in back, our bes' trade's a good distance from 'ere."

Ron tried not to let his disappointment show on his face. "So, you'll be leading the tagging team today?"

"Yep."

Today was to be Ron's first tagging of a dragon. A new one had moved in recently, identified by the rangers as a Ukrainian Ironbelly, and a rather large one at that. It was noticeably more aggressive than Ironbellies were supposed to get, and its agitation was threatening other dragons in the area, and as such it needed to be tended to immediately. Tagging supposedly helped the rangers keep track of the dragons and their behaviors as well as their health, though for the life of him Ron couldn't see how this was done. When he had asked, Charlie had shown him a rather thick book with a vivid red cover that he kept in his quarters, which had a page synced to each tag applied to a dragon which constantly updated with information on that dragon's whereabouts, health, and current status. It supposedly worked the same way as the Weasley clock back home. There used to be other, more sophisticated instruments for monitoring dragons in real time, but they perished routinely with the buildings they had been kept in. Connor was apparently working on something more portable and less easily destroyed, but that was a 'later' thing.

Men were gathering around the two of them, brooms clutched in hand, and started checking themselves to make sure they were otherwise ready. This would be the first trip Ron had gone on where all available men were headed to the same place.

"Alrigh', boys! Follow me!"

Ron was right behind Connor as he kicked off and began to fly at a fast pace. According to what he'd been told, the Ironbelly had originally settled on quite a distant lonely peak, but was beginning to encroach inward. This would not necessarily be a problem, but as it scared other dragons, bad things could happen--even if they didn't fight and end up hurting each other, there were several Muggle villages dotting the mountain ranges that could get hurt if a smaller, frightened dragon were forced out of its territory and ran down onto them.

It was freezing cold up in the air. November was merciless in its snowfall, and that was frigid enough just on the ground. Though Ron was wrapped in thick clothing and dragon hide that protected from the chill quite effectively, the bits of his face that remained exposed felt every bit of it. They were flying for quite a long time, as well. Snow was starting to fall gently around them as they sped through the mountain ranges, and Ron hoped that there weren't any blizzards incoming, or any more thunderstorms for that matter. But his hopes weren't high on that front as he examined the cloud cover ahead.

At last, Connor began leading them downward. The mountains up here were much bigger, and rather steeper, with less tree cover and a lot more snow and ice. However, they weren't heading for the peak, as Ron would've imagined. Rather, Connor seemed to be leading them downward at a harsh slope, bringing them far closer to the base of the lonely peak he was targeting. When they finally approached the ground, Ron heard noises of confusion from the rest of the group about why they were starting this low. After dismounting, the chief quickly explained:

"We're star'in down 'ere," he said, "so we can head off any rockslides or avalanches. That Ironbelly's big enough ta cause some real shakes if it feels like it."

This made sense enough, as did when he mentioned that most of them should get back on their brooms and settle for hovering a few feet above the ground, as the rough terrain would be time-consuming and exhausting even if it weren't covered with snow two feet deep. Ron, however, was asked to stay on the ground for just a moment and hang back while the others started a modest pace up the mountain's face.

"What am I doing, then?" he asked, but Connor waved this question aside.

"You're comin' with us, kid, don' worry. Wanted ta give ya some instruction for when we reach the Ironbelly."

"Instruction?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"I'm goin' ta teach you a spell." Connor said. "A nea' li'el trick tha' shoul' come en handy, yeah? Go on, ge' your wand out."

"Alright..." said Ron hesitantly, pulling out his spare wand. Connor walked around behind him and put his own wand over his shoulder, showing him the the correct position in which Ron's arm was forward but his wand was held out to his right.

"Now, I wan' ya ta say ' _Inhalo_ ', go' me?"

" _Inhalo_." Ron repeated. What the spell was supposed to do, he wasn't sure, but he was quite sure that the small flutter of wind against his hair was not it. Connor didn't seem daunted.

"Tha's fine, Ron. Just keep repea'in that incantation ou' loud, all the way up to the mountaintop. You'll ge' it by the time we're there."

This did not really lift Ron's spirits. He rather felt like he recognized the somewhat noticeable pity taken on him as something he'd seen Neville Longbottom go through in his earlier years as a student.

Ron re-mounted his broom and followed Connor then, traveling upward at a fast pace until they caught up with the group and began trailing them at the back.

" _Inhalo...Inhalo...Inhalo..._ " he muttered.

And so this continued up the mountainside. The group could not proceed very quickly what with all of the trees in the way, though a few broke off and flew above the trees to try and find the fastest routes upward. They were about a third of the way up when a sound rang out, like some distant explosion. They paused for only a moment, several of the rangers looking at one another before proceeding. Ron tried to ignore it, continuing to chant his incantation under his breath, but still never getting any results but for the occasional flutter of air.

Then, another noise, this time like a roll of thunder, quite a bit louder. Ron's attention was taken away entirely as he heard the rumbles trail off with some kind of roar, and he was reminded of his fourth year, hearing the mighty roars of the dragons as the champions made their stands against him. A cloud of birds could be heard fleeing the sound as well, and he realized that Connor had probably been right to worry about avalanches. He had to receive a nudge to the ribs from the man himself, who was still flying next to him, in order to get back to practicing his spell.

" _Inhalo...Inhalo...Inhalo..._ "

Onward up the mountain they floated. The trees began to thin out, leaving cold cliff faces and steppes covered in thicker and thicker layers of snow. Ron was reminded sharply of fairy tales he'd been read as a child that depicted fearsome dragons and other monsters at the top of lonely peaks, and knights rescuing princesses or tracking down treasure. The group began to fan out as they started to approach the lowest peak.

"Hold up, let me lead tha rest of tha way."

The group slowed to allow Connor to fly ahead of them, and he motioned for Ron to keep close ahead of the rest as well. Ron did so, feeling a bit wary. Steadily, they continued onward and upward.

Another roar shook the air, and this time silence did not return after it. A second roar, that sounded like it had come from a different beast, rent the air. There was a flash of orange from around the mountainside, and then there was a great shape in the sky. A huge shadow blackened the snow-covered field ahead of them, and Ron felt a wave of fear pass over him with it. This dragon was fleeing.

"Anton, Hazm, Yiannis! Go after it!" barked Connor's voice from up ahead. With a sharp swerve, the three men he'd referred to had turned and sped off to follow the dragon.

The formation was suddenly moving around him, and he hastened to catch up. They were speeding upward and fanning out, the mountain sinking away below them until they could see the greater range behind it, all of the men forming an arrow pointed at the lower peak. Ron saw the fold of a massive wing.

"Wh--" Ron started, but he had to stop and start over; he was having difficulty finding his words, much less vocalizing them this high up. "What are you going to do?"

" _You_ are goin' to head in firs' with me." Connor answered, causing Ron to grip his boom tight enough he was afraid it might break.

"I-- _me?!_ "

"Yes, Ron!" the man answered impatiently. "Don' go white on me now, kid! Thes es standard stuff! You an' I will go in an' get ets attention, and the rest of tha boys will come aroun' an' Stun it! Been practicing your spell all the way here, yeah?"

"What--oh, yeah, I-- _Inhalo!_ " Ron said, looking down at his wand and panicking somewhat that he had not yet produced any results. Connor was barking orders again before he could voice his concerns on this matter, though.

"Righ', the res' of you go aroun' tha' way," Connor indicated, pointing to one side of the low peak, "an' be ready to fire Stunners. Ron, we're goin' roun' the other way. C'mon."

He was speeding off, approaching an outcropping on the far side of the peak. Once they crossed around to the other side of it, they'd have full view of the dragon waiting for them, and it would have full view of them, too. The Chief Ranger pulled his broom right up to the rock wall, and Ron followed him, now thoroughly quaking.

"Connor, before we do this--I don't think the spell is working, why don't you do it--?"

"Don' worry 'bout tha spell." Connor cut him off. "You're gonna be usin' a differen' one, hear me? Now calm down, an' do wha' I tell ya, ya hear? You're gonna be fine, I'm here, an' Charlie'd roast me faster than the Ironbelly if I let anythin' happen to ya. So listen up, yeah?"

Ron swallowed, but nodded.

"The others are waitin' roun' tha bend o' the peak for us. You an' I are gonna fly ou' from behin' this outcrop, an' get within abou' sixty feet. You're gonna wait for the dragon ta see us, and you'll see its lips pull back over ets teeth. Righ' when it does that, you're gonna poin' your wand direc'ly at et, an' say ' _Suspiro_ ', go' it?"

"Suspiro?" Ron mimicked back, and Connor nodded. He really wasn't ready to do this, but...well, he had to. That dragon behind this rock face wasn't going to wait forever. The boss held up three fingers, pulling them down one by one.

Ron kicked off, pushing his broom to its greatest speed as he shot off, sling-shotting around the outcropping and circling the right side of the peak. He braked hard as he saw what was waiting for him on the other side.

'Big' was not quite doing it justice. This dragon was hulking, an enormous beast of an iron grey color with huge leathery wings folded behind it. It was perched in the middle of a snowfield bridging the gap between the two peaks of the mountain, and would've snapped up a man of Connor's size with ease. It was pawing the ground, leaving huge gouge marks in the snow, and Ron felt very sure that if he were to leave himself vulnerable in its presence, he would regret it. For but a moment, he had a chance to think, and then its head was turning to look at him, and its eyes made it very clear it saw a threat. He saw white teeth within its jaws being exposed one by one. Ron pointed his wand.

" _Suspiro!_ "

He completed the spell just as there was a flash of brilliant orange. Ron could hear nothing but roaring, a strange din produced by the jet of flame that had come hurtling at him and a furious, howling gale that overpowered it. The clash of fire and wind gave visible shape to the latter, as Ron watched the jet of brilliantly glowing fire be blown back in a vortex, hiding from view the dragon that was spitting it. Ron hovered in place, in awe of his own magic, his hair whipping in the wind he'd generated. The jet of flame being fed into the air ceased, and the whirlwind of burning air ahead of him faded to so much smoke and embers, past which he could see the Ironbelly with its back arched and its head low to the ground, snarling, but its eyes confused and alarmed. Ron also saw, over its shoulder, eight men on brooms closing in behind it.

" _Stupefy!_ "

The rangers' Stunners hit the dragon dead-on, and it slumped to the ground unconscious, sending a flurry of snow up into the air where it had collapsed. Ron simply sat motionless, his wand hand still extended and now pointed at nothing. A clap came to his shoulder from behind.

"Good work, Ron." came the voice in his ear.

* * *

Tagging turned out to be a simple matter, though Ron was warned that the actual tag itself was very difficult to create and thus not to let it blow away while while he was applying it. The red cloth fabric that matched the armbands worn by the rangers was to be laid over the dragon's neck just under the back of its head, so that it couldn't damage it, and adhered to the dragon by applying a Permanent Sticking Charm on each scale it was to be placed on. Connor explained that while this process occasionally got complicated, many dragons shed scales, including the Ukrainian Ironbelly, so it would eventually come off on its own as the flesh underneath it was shed and replaced. This ensured that the tag could be removed if it posed a health threat for whatever reason, but otherwise would stay on as needed.

A lengthy examination of the dragon was done, and Ron had asked if it had been the victim of another magic-eating parasite, but this turned out not to be the case. The dragon was simply suffering an internal hormone problem, as determined by an odd little instrument (popped out of the case attached to Connor's broom) when a bit of the dragon's blood was subjected to it. It was, according to the man himself, supposed to be in a mating cycle by now, but some health problems that were likely congenital were causing the wrong chemicals to flow. Connor administered a complicated series of medical spells, along with popping some pills the size of silver Sickles onto the unconscious dragon's tongue to be dissolved and swallowed.

"Alrigh'", said Connor approvingly, once everything was done. "All she needs now es a name. Ron, any suggestions?"

For the oddest moment, Ron almost blurted out Hermione's name, then laughed as he thought of how she'd probably smack him if she ever found out about it, and this then produced an awful pang inside him. The result was a sort of choked half-laugh that had the rest of the rangers staring at him.

"I, uh... I didn't know you guys named dragons." he confessed. "I have got one idea, though..."

"Go on, then."

"Umm... Thunder?" he said tentatively. He could feel eyes still on him everywhere. "'Cause, when we were coming up here, and she was roaring...i-it sounded a bit like thunder, yeah?"

Connor was giving him a curious look when Ron glanced at him, but it quickly fell away and was replaced by a smile and a chuckle. "Sounds good ta me. I'll write 'er down in tha book when when we ge' back. Cer'ainly appropriate."

It took them some time to scout out a cavern big enough to house Thunder that wasn't too close to any other dragons, too close to a village, or in danger of caving in if things rumbled around in them too much. Once it was done, though, it was time to leave since, as Dimitri had colorfully described it, any longer up here and their balls would "fall off and gather snow rolling down the mountain until they flattened a village"--not to mention that some ominous clouds were rolling in again from downwind. They were allowed to race each other down the mountain ranges and back to camp, Ron leading the way on his Cleansweep Eleven. Charlie was not there when he touched down and looked around, but he then remembered that he'd been told Charlie would be gone most of the day.

Lunch was a delicious affair, once it had been brought back, skinned, de-boned, and roasted over a fire.

"Ron--"

Ron looked up from his boar pork sandwich, looking around. None of the eyes around the campfire were meeting his. He chewed and swallowed, then started to ask who had called his name, but decided against it. He quietly finished his meal and cleaned up, being one of the last to do so, and then--

"Ron!"

Ron jerked around, finding Connor striding towards him. He quickly disposed of his trash and cleaned off his plate, putting it with the rest just as the man stopped short.

"Good ta see you've finished eating. I've go' a job for you and a couple of the other boys today."

"Yeah, what is it?"

The Chief Ranger was looking up at the sky as he started talking, taking a moment to look back down. "Rotation schedule says it's your turn on fer'ilizer du'y today."

"Sorry," Ron said, confused, "fertilizer duty? Do you guys grow plants here?"

Connor's smile was apologetic, but it didn't stop him from laughing.

* * *

Fertilizer, as it happened, was not nearly as fun to produce as it was to use in a class, and it wasn't exactly fun then. Marian and Yiannis flew him around nearly the entire preserve for several hours for the explicit purpose of finding and utilizing giant piles of dragon dung. And you could fit a _lot_ of dragon dung into a 15,000-mile area.

It astounded Ron that they did this every day. Apparently, dragon dung made the sanctuary a _lot_ of money given how useful it was in gardening pursuits, with Knockturn Alley and Hogwarts paying quite a sum for it, so it was very important to get it done. They flew around with bags full of barrels that, after having their insides magnified well beyond their outsides' spatial capacities, had had their outsides shrunken down, enabling them to fit about two dozen barrels to a bag. Each barrel could fit an untold magnitude of dung in it before getting full, but that was only after Marian and Yiannis had checked each pile for a variety of intestinal parasites that could affect a dragon's health--Ron flatly insisted he was too new at this to be of much help with this part, and they gracefully agreed. How they were able to tell this at a handful and a glance, Ron would not find out today, as there were luckily no such alarms to speak of.

Once a barrel was removed from the bag, it was enlarged again, filled to capacity, then sealed and shrunk down again and had a feather-light charm placed on it. Only with this series of charms could all of the very copious amounts of dung be transported to an outpost in the center of the preserve and unloaded, where Connor was waiting to perform further checks and lace them with certain organic materials. The full extent of the creation of proper fertilizer, not to mention sorting them into un-magnified barrels, would be done by the herbologists and delivery wizards who came up to buy them once a week. Short-staffed as the rangers were, they didn't have time to actually get barrels full of crap any further than they already did each day.

"Excellent work, that should be more than enough." Connor said approvingly as the last barrel was unloaded, totaling some hundred and twenty-odd loads. Ron was trying hard not to feel any resentment--he was sweating and smelled disgusting, and the sun was almost entirely set by now. They would have had to stop anyway even if it wasn't done, no matter how late it was, as it was now raining, threatening the work were it to continue further.

"Ron, hang back a bit." he said as Ron was preparing to mount his broom to follow the other two back to camp. He bit back a retort and did as he was told, turning to face Connor.

"Firs' theng's firs', I wanna le' you know you've been doin' good work ou' there, 'specially today."

"Er, thanks." he answered, wondering where this was leading.

"Work's so good, en fact," Connor followed up, "tha' I been thenkin' abou' teachin' you a li'le more."

"More...what?" Ron answered, suddenly very nervous. There was a gleam in Connor's eye.

"Magic, kid. Spells. Shit even your friend 'Ermione wouldn' know."

Ron felt something drop out of his chest into his stomach. Teach him magic? What was that about? If he'd wanted to pick up some spells off of this guy, he'd already learned more than enough. He quietly remembered the times he'd seen Connor and Charlie with their heads together, talking in low voices.

"...Charlie's been talking to you, hasn't he?"

"Aye. Been le'en me know 'ow much you talk 'bou' tha' 'Arry Po'er an' 'Ermione Granger. Asked me ta do somethin' abou' tha' confidence problem you go'."

Ron chose his words carefully, not wanting to insult Connor, but neither wanting to accept pity from him, either.

"Well, he did say that...I'd return to them stronger and more confident." he started. "But I kind of figured he was talking more like a 'cheering me up' kind of way. Really, I don't need to have a bunch of spells I can do that others can't. I'm...I'm fine with not being the best fighter, or the best at magic..."

"...Or tha bes' at Quidditch, or tha bes' studen', or tha bes' looken' bachelor...?" Connor finished for him. Ron swallowed.

"No' gonna lie to ya, kid, if you really think you've got things handled, tha's fine, an' Charlie an' I'll be proud of ya for it. ...But, I still think et'd be pre'ey cool to learn how to do _thes_ , don' ya think?"

Without warning, Ron was tapped over the head with a wand, before he could even reach for his own. All of a sudden, the world went completely silent. Neither the torrential rain nor the wind that was just starting to pick up were audible anymore. It would've frightened Ron if he'd thought it had been done with hostile intent. Was this a regular Silencing Charm?

He looked up at Connor, who was grinning, and was striding backward, his feet not making any squelching noises in the mud. He raised his wand into the air, and turned away from Ron, pointing it into the sky. There was an odd crackle of light around the wood, and Ron caught the scent of something odd past the stench surrounding the fertilizer barrels. Was it chlorine? But before he could settle on an answer, the world seemed to end. Or at least, he thought it was for a few moments.

An enormous flash of light had erupted, connecting the tip of Connor's wand with some obscure point high in the clouds above, arcing and bending and leaving him blinded for a moment, blinking back stars. In the same instant, even though Ron could not hear anything, he felt vibrations shake him to his core. The scent was much stronger now, almost stinging his nose. It took him several seconds to realize he had just witnessed a lightning strike up close.

In complete silence, Connor turned back to him and flicked his wand, and all of a sudden the world was making noise again. Ron was rather shaken at what he'd seen, not because it frightened him, but because he was having to take in just how truly powerful a wizard he was dealing with. He understood very clearly why Death Eaters would regret any decision that led them to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, and it had nothing to do with dragons.

"It...it was you." Ron realized aloud. "You struck down that dragon that was chasing me the night I came here."

"Sure ded." Connor answered, a smile still on his face. "If you're wonderen', standard pro'ocol is ta down a dragon immedia'ely if it star's attackin' someone. Lightnin' spells go a much bigger distance at a dozen toimes tha speed, an' doin' it magically lets 'em shrug off damage that'd otherwise be fa'al if they got hi' by real lightnin'. When I saw ol' Bran'ley tryin' ta chew on ya, I sho' 'im down. He's fine, if yer worried."

Ron was still trying to pick his jaw up off the ground.

"And...and you can _teach me_ to do that?" he asked, stunned.

"Sure cahn. Ef you're enterested, tha' es." came the boss' grinning reply.

* * *

They were standing in a small cave that hid them from the rain. Connor had conjured a large brass candle bracket standing five feet high, topped with a white wax candle whose wick was unlit.

"Now, what you're goin' ta do es, hold your wand ou' an' focus on tha' candle." Connor said. "An' you're gonna say ' _Invalesco Fulmeno_ '. Go' it?"

Ron stared at the candle. It was pretty clear what he was intended to accomplish. He inhaled, and said the incantation.

“... _Invalesco Fulmeno_.”

Nothing happened. Ron had not expected it to; this was usually the case when he tried new magic for the first time, though he suspected Connor had more to teach him.

“Righ',” said Connor from his left. “The theng is, you’ve go' to repeat the incantation a few times. Once esn’t good enough.”

“What?” Ron said, confused. He’d never heard of a spell that needed to be uttered more than once by design. That usually meant you were doing something wrong.

“Don' be so shocked, kid. That _Inhalo_ spell I taught you earlier today works the same way."

"It does...?" Ron said, confused. Thinking back, he realized what that fluttering air must have been each time he'd said the aforementioned spell during the trek up the mountain earlier today. He felt himself flush red. "Why, you--! You let me think I was doing it wrong this whole time!"

"See," the boss said, ignoring this outburst, "tha spell’s effects are so tiny and unno'iceable, you’ll never see 'em if you only say it once. So you’ve go' to say it a lo' before it really starts takin' hold, yanno? Go on, try et. Remember ta focus on the object."

Ron looked forward again, focusing on the candle ahead of him. “Invalesco Fulmeno… _Invalesco Fulmeno… Invalesco Fulmeno… Invalesco Fulmeno,_ _Invalesco Fulmeno, Invalesco Fulmeno, Invalesco Fulmeno, Invalesco Fulmen—_ “

Ron paused. He had just seen a spark alight along his wand.

“Keep going, Ron!”

“ _Invalesco Fulmeno_ ,” he repeated. “ _Invalesco Fulmeno, Invalesco Fulmeno, Invalesco Fulmeno…_ ”

With another ten repetitions, sparks were now lighting up and down the length of his wand, slow to appear but consistent, and vanishing quickly. With another five, they were now dancing quickly along it, and with another five after that, Ron’s wand was emitting small arcs of electricity and felt rather tingly and lightweight in his hand. It wasn’t the only thing; similar sparks were dancing in the air just above the wick of the candle he’d selected as his target.

“Tha’s great, Ron, keep at et! Keep building tha' charge!”

Ron continued to repeat the incantation, feeling the wand in his hand go from tingling slightly to vibrating somewhat in his hand. It didn’t feel like it was safe to hold for much longer. A drop of sweat rolled down Ron’s forehead as he concentrated on the candle wick.

“Now you’ve go' your charge, you’re gonna say—repea' after me, ready?—‘Pulsus Reditio’.”

“ _Pulsus Reditio._ ”

There was a sound distinctly like paper ripping, and a flash of light. A small spark of lightning had lit the space between the end of Ron’s wand and the candle wick, lighting the latter and leaving the former smoking slightly. A surge of pride welled in him, though it was dimmed a bit by exactly how useful the spell was presenting as.

“Is that it?” he asked, looking over at Connor and lowering his wand slightly. “Seems a lot of wasted effort if you have to repeat it a hundred times, doesn’t it?”

“Practice, Ron.” Connor told him. “You’ll be able ta build more charge wi' less incantations as you practice, and pre'ey soon et’ll on'y take one before et’s ready ta fire. And then you’ve just go' to learn how ta do et nonverbally. ‘Sides, even I have ta charge up for a bi' if I wanna shoo' that bigass ligh'ning strike you saw me use before. A small shock like tha' should be more'n useful if you wanna ge' tha drop on some Death Ea'er, right? So keep practicing.”

Ron did indeed keep practicing. Even if it took a long time and he felt ridiculous doing it, it still made him feel good that he could re-light the candle every time it was snuffed out with a flick of Connor's wand. Once he had decided that Ron had learned the spell well enough, he reminded him to make note of the fact that he was doing more than just producing a magical effect; the electric charge might fade on its own if he stopped early, but if he'd sufficiently built it up, it was just as likely to snap and shock the target anyway, whether he incanted the tension-snap spell or not. Ron liked the sound of it; it meant that he wasn't totally screwed if someone disarmed him mid-charge.

It was well into the night when they flew back to camp, and still raining heavily. Ron was pleased to find the lights on in Charlie's tent, and strode forward. Just before he could reach the tent flap, it opened and he walked right into the man.

"Woah!"

The two brothers disentangled themselves, then hugged properly. Charlie had a huge grin on his face.

"Careful, now, don't wanna run in and trip over what I bought. Sorry I couldn't be there today--how did you do?"

"I, uh--" Ron started, glancing at Connor, who was strolling up behind him with a wide smile on his face. "--I did good."

"No, he did _fantastic!_ " came the other man's voice along with another clap to his back. "Brought in twenty-four tonnes of dragon dung!"

" _Oi!_ "

"And 'e also tagged an Ironbelly." came the gracious addition. "After starin' it down an' tellin' it ta go suck 'is--"

"That'll be Thunder, then?" Charlie asked, laughing. "I checked the register."

Ron couldn't help but grin, too.

"Connor, d'ya mind?"

"No' at all, boys."

Bemusement laced Ron's rictus as his employer strode back off towards another tent. He'd never seen Charlie, or anyone else for that matter, dismiss their boss. Turning back to him, he let his confusion show in a raised eyebrow.

"Just wanted to show you some stuff, little bro."

Ron was welcomed into the tent, and indeed he saw that tripping was a real danger once inside. The floor was taken up by a large roll of fabric, on which was laid out dozens of odd instruments, little gadgets and gizmos of bronze and silver. A few were puffing smoke, others were making odd little ticking noises. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to their shape and, in most cases, no discernible function. It rather reminded him of the inside of the headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

"What is all this stuff?"

"Just some things I thought would help with getting inside that little lighter of yours." Charlie answered. "I ran through the wares of every reputable vendor I found down in the market--you get a lot of ambitious salesmen out here when they really want fine dragon's hide or blood."

Ron had almost forgotten that the Deluminator was still in Charlie's possession and that he'd promised to help with finding out what secrets it held inside it.

"That's--that's great, Charlie!" he said, breathless. "How d'you think it's coming along?"

"I've made some progress, but I ran into a dead end about a week back, hence." he said, waving his arms at the assortment of devices. "I don't think I'm close to figuring it out, yet, but I'm getting there. I've been working on it mostly at night, and I'll be keeping that trend going. I'll let you know if anything new comes up. Once we crack this little mystery, all we have to do then is get you back to Harry and Hermione."

Ron felt the usual pang of guilt, sadness, and frustration that came with the mention of those names, but something was off with Charlie's wording.

"Erm...don't you mean, 'send' me back to them? It's not like we have any idea where they are."

"No," Charlie answered, "but they're somewhere on this planet, and probably this continent, so we'll just have to look. I can't leave the dragons for too long..." Charlie said, and there was an awkward half-pause, like a bump in his words, that told Ron that 'dragons' meant something much greater. "...So I can't come with you on your quest. Pretty sure you'd say this is a 'just you' thing, anyway--but I can leave long enough to get you where you need to be."

"Charlie," Ron said, apprehensive, "you don't have to do that. You do know traveling with me puts you at risk too, right?"

"And you're my little brother." the elder sibling answered. "Any risk I can mitigate, I will. If we have to scour Europe, we'll do it."

Ron was pulled into a tight hug, and he felt himself turning a vivid red as he tried to find words to thank Charlie for his selflessness, at the same time already planning ways to leave by himself under cover of darkness.


	7. The Deluminator

November crept by, the snows becoming thicker and colder as they came. Ron was often busy the entire day through, only to be left to gather himself at night, never quite bored but nonetheless left with time for his thoughts to wander. Eventually, November 31st arrived.

Connor wasn't in today. He was apparently staying at an inn for a meet-up in which he'd be overseeing the sale of some eggs to the sanctuary, and would not be back until tomorrow. In his absence, Charlie would usually lead the day's work, being the _de facto_ deputy chief to the sanctuary, but he was rather difficult to find lately. Things continued as normal nonetheless, with everyone too used to routine to be unable to function without them.

Charlie was, however, still present, though not often leaving the tent he shared with Ron (and Connor, before Ron had arrived). In the evening, some time in the middle of winding down after the day's work just as the sun was dipping past the horizon, Ron heard his brother call him from within it.

Freshly cleaned up, and dusting himself off, Ron entered the tent, peering around and stopping short of a cloth covering the center of the floor. When he saw what was on it, he winced as though from a sudden shock: the cloth was now void of the little instruments and gizmos that Charlie had shown him before; the little silver gears and plates he was now seeing strewn over it were clearly pieces of the Deluminator. Charlie was sitting cross-legged behind them, examining them. Ron knew he shouldn't fear the thing being taken apart so much, as he was sure Charlie undoubtedly knew how to put it back together again, but even accounting for how useless the little mechanism had been so far, it was still the only one in the world.

"What's all this about?"

"Well, as you can see, I've finally resorted to taking this little thing apart. I didn't want to, but I haven't been able to get a feel for it otherwise. I was hoping it would make a bit more sense when I did."

"And, so far?"

Charlie shook his head. "Nothing. I haven't been able to find any 'true function' at all."

Ron's heart sank.

"So...there's nothing special about it?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. There's definitely something here."

As Ron watched, his elder brother took his wand and prodded a small metal rod, so thin that he feared it could break from the gentle touch alone. It glowed with a soft blue light for a moment before returning to normal. His eyes flickered over to the rest of the little pieces of the silver lighter, so numerous that even at their tiny size, they had to have fit within their shell through the use of magic.

"I just don't know if it's a truly hidden secret power, or just remnants of magic from back when Dumbledore was experimenting. Whatever's here, it's giving me a very hard time digging it up. I don't know if that's because it's well-protected, or because it simply isn't that much. I don't want to get your hopes up, because there's no real way to tell at this stage, but if there's anything there, it's going to be a while yet."

"Oh."

There was silence for a moment as Ron stood there, still taking it in. Doubt had begun to worm its way into his mind again. Perhaps, murmured a voice in his head, they had overestimated Dumbledore's plans for the future. Catching snitches, reading runes...those were things anyone who took the right courses at Hogwarts could do. Maybe the Deluminator was just one thing Dumbledore had that he figured Ron could use a little better than most other people, though even that measure was escaping him as to how. He tried to shake it off. As he watched Charlie continue to poke and prod, occasionally getting a light or a shudder from a gear in response, he became aware of voices outside the tent. His head turned back slightly when he thought he heard someone mention his name. Turning back, he looked up, and Charlie was meeting his eyes.

"Don't lose hope, Ron." he said gently. "I'll keep working on this. We'll find something."

"I just..." Ron said, struggling to voice his thoughts, "I want to believe, yanno? That that old crock really was some faultless paragon. That he had a plan in motion. That there's some...light at the end, and all I have to do is think a bit, and it'll come to me. But I keep rolling over in bed at night, trying and trying until my brain hurts, and...nothing. Even if there was something, maybe there was supposed to be more time. Maybe he made a mistake, and he didn't account for Snape killing him. And..." Ron stopped, taking a deep breath. "And I'm still wondering what I meant to that old man to begin with. We just weren't close, at all. When I'm laying there, at night, half of me keeps thinking he only left me anything to begin with because he'd feel like it was too obvious if he only left Harry and the smartest girl in school something. The other half keeps thinking we're chasing a fantasy, and none of this means anything at all. The Ministry obviously thinks so."

Charlie said nothing through this, listening attentively, but surprise did not play on his face.

"The sword of Gryffindor. There's still that. D'you really think you can boil that down to a fantasy? You told me a couple weeks ago that it was going to be an important tool. You seemed pretty sure, then."

Ron cast his gaze off to the side. True, there was still that. The mere fact that they'd been able to piece together that the sword had imbibed basilisk venom and was effectively a Horcrux-killing tool now proved that there was something in place. In an easier world, maybe all of their inheritances were like that. Maybe his little Deluminator would end up burning Horcruxes to ash with dragon fire, or something. This was something he sorely doubted, but imagining it was still fun. Made him not want to think, though, about how many times he'd complained about the locket and not being able to destroy it, let alone find the other little jars of soul bits. Maybe he should ask Charlie about a possible investment in fire-breathing dragons as a disposal service.

"Ron," Charlie continued "you've had it hard. With the positions you've been put in, I know you don't think much of yourself. But you've got talent, and wits, and skill, and you've got a place in the fight against You-Know-Who. I can see it in you, and I'm sure Dumbledore did, too. Maybe he really was a crackpot old fool with more plans than time, but the fact is his heart was in the right place and he was still a damn sight smarter than most of us. Trusting him still seems like the safest bet, even if we're being cynical, I think. Trusting you is an even safer one. So rest a little easier, if you can."

A smile fought its way onto Ron's face against his will.

"I...I know. And when the time comes...if I can face Harry, and Hermione, after what I did...I'll make it all worth it. And I'll fight, even if I have to take the sword and chop the mad bastard's head off with it myself."

"That's the spirit."

Voices were still murmuring outside. He heard his name again, and turned back.

"I'd better see what they want. Thanks, Charlie."

"No problem, Ron."

Ron lifted the flap of the tent, ducking and standing outside in the cool night air again. To his surprise, however, he was met with silence. He stood there, taking in the sight of the camp. Several tents were still glowing from inside, and embers were still glowing in the fire pit in the center, but there was no one out and about. This struck him as intensely weird; he was sure he'd heard the chatter of conversation just seconds ago. Had everyone ducked inside their tent in the short amount of time it had taken him to exit Charlie's? Unease crept into his veins. He was sure he'd heard his name at least once. It would be a fine thing if, just after Charlie had spoken so warmly to him of his positive traits, everyone turned out to be talking about him behind his back. He quickly dispelled this notion. Some things were too trivial to spend this much energy worrying about.

Determined to go to sleep fairly early tonight, Ron headed off for Charlie's tent, making himself at ease.

* * *

It was the third of December when Ron was next called into Charlie's quarters. Before he even got beyond the tent flap, he could see a faint waft of smoke from within, and it smelled quite acrid. Walking in, he received quite the shock.

The variety of odd little gadgets Charlie had bought for the purpose of investigating the Deluminator had returned, joined on the center cloth by the little lighter's innards. It took him a minute, then, to discern that among the pile of little silver bits and pieces so numerous he feared walking too far into the tent for stepping on one, was a small pile of sludge from which the smoke was rising. Alarm shot through Ron as he realized that something metal had melted.

"Oi, is that--?"

"It's not part of the Deluminator." Charlie hastily assured him. "Though, it was quite expensive. It liquefied when it made contact with one of the pieces here." he said, indicating a small silver gear with what Ron, upon close inspection, realized was a spare wand.

"Then," Ron said tentatively, beginning to wonder if his little fantasy about using the this lighter to burn Horcruxes might have a basis after all, "this is...progress?"

"Something like that, yes. I've definitely found that parts of the mechanism are...reacting. There's something here, and I feel like I have some ideas to go off of, now." he answered, and Ron's heart began to lift. "I just hope I don't go through too many more gadgets figuring it out."

"Be _careful_ when you're doing this stuff," Ron advised, still rather in shock. "I know you don't really need to be told that, seeing as you handle drag...er..."

An overwhelming sense of deja vu hit Ron, and he was taken in by the sight of something so noteworthy that it actually overwhelmed his desire to know more about the Deluminator. The molten remnants of whatever Charlie had melted in here were indeed the source of the acrid smell, but they had stopped smoking. A hole in the back of the tent had been opened some foot or so above head level, letting the air flow in and out, and allowing him to see the clouds beyond. The source of the smoke still wafting in the tent, which was being fed primarily through this makeshift window, was a large black egg.

The setup was extremely reminiscent of what he'd seen preceding the birth of Norberta: an egg resting on a gently crackling timber, glowing from underneath with the light of the fire stoking the tent's cauldron.

"Is...that..."

"A dragon egg, yes." Charlie said, matter-of-factly. "I'm actually in charge of those, here--incubating the ones that are a tad sickly or have been left motherless. Don't worry--I'll be moving all of these effects to the Chief's tent tonight. We can't move the egg in there, too much paperwork that could be damaged, even if the fireproofing spells are accounted for."

He was speaking as though this was the most normal thing in the world, and even having been working at the sanctuary for a month now, Ron had to take a minute to remember that it actually was a normal thing here. He had somehow gone this long without any up-close looks at any eggs, and it hadn't crossed his mind that any would need to be personally incubated. He supposed dragon egg care manuals like the ones Hagrid had used so long ago had to come from somewhere; men like Charlie were probably the ones writing them.

"While you do that, I'll come and get my stuff, too." Ron said gruffly. He didn't like to imagine his belongings, what few he had here, within range of anything fiery. His Cleansweep was already starting to show the signs of having been used around dragons for four weeks; it wasn't ever going to go back to its pristinely polished form again.

"Oh, don't be so curt, Ron. He won't bother anything. One of the quieter eggs we've had in recent months, to be honest. I'd love for you to be around for the hatching."

"The novelty's kind of worn off for me." Ron said, a small grin breaking onto his face. "How long is it 'til it hatches?"

"About two weeks. This species is a little more dependent on parenting than you usually see in dragons. It won't be much of an issue if we can't, but we're hoping to find a suitable mother who can adopt in that time. Dragons imprint, and Connor tends to cry if he has time to get attached to one and has to send it off."

" _Connor_ cries?" Ron asked, astonished at the very thought. The tears would probably take ages to hit the ground at that height.

At this, Charlie was overcome with a small chuckle that quickly turned into full-blown laughter, nodding as he did. The smile on his face was a little different than usual, but Ron thought he recognized it, and for once it was making him smile, too.

"That's all I wanted to show you, though." he said when he regained his composure. "Oh, but I will need to meet up with you tomorrow morning, so get some sleep. We're leaving early."

"Earlier than usual? What for?" Ron asked.

"Christmas shopping."

Glee filled Ron up like warm butterbeer.


	8. Embers

Ron was blinking sleep out of his eyes.

It wasn't that much earlier than he usually got up to do his work with the sanctuary rangers, but the difference was tangible enough. Charlie was possessed of an energy Ron was having difficulty comprehending, let alone equaling; the sun wasn't up yet, but he was waiting in front of the ranger chief's tent very bundled up while his brother fetched something from inside. Eventually, he strode back out, both hands full.

"Here we are. This is for you, Ron."

The younger man's eyes damn near bulged out of his head. Charlie was holding a bag slightly smaller than a quaffle in each hand, and holding one out to Ron. By the sound it made when moved and the weight of it when Ron took it, it was full of gold. He'd never held this much money in his life. Opening it, he found golden Galleons greeting him.

"Oi, what the hell is all of this?"

"It's your salary, of course. Er, that is, it's two salaries. We would've had your first one in, but there was a problem at the Romanian Ministry with the papers to get the gold for a new hire. We figured it was better that way anyway, as since you're getting it now, you've got more to spend down in the villages... What's that look on your face for, Ron? You didn't think you were working here for free, did you?"

The bag of money did seem to make a bit more sense when explained to him that way, but even assuming his typical salary would be half of this, it was still more spending money than he'd ever had for himself. Then again, he'd never actually had a job before this one.

"And that's yours?" he asked, staring at the equally large bag still in Charlie's hand.

"Nah--I've already sent most of mine home. Connor mailed it for me the other day when he was down at the villages. This here is our pool--when Christmas time comes, we all chip in a piece of our salary so we can make the best of it. A bit modest, usually, but we have ways of making it our own."

Realization hit Ron, now fully awake, with the force of a bludger. Most of his...but of course. He'd never thought about it before, but there was no way his dad's salary alone was supporting a household of seven people, even assuming most of them were gone during the greater portion of the year. His mum didn't work, and Percy would never base himself by sending cash home. Most of the pile in their Gringotts vault back in Diagon Alley must've been alms from his eldest two brothers.

The pile of gold now seemed much smaller in his hand than it should have.

"H..."

"Hmm?"

"Here." Ron said, shoving the bag back. There wasn't a choice, he didn't even need to consider it. He couldn't keep all of this for himself. He couldn't keep any of it, really. "It needs to go back to Mum and Dad back home, with your share."

"Oh, Ron, there's no need to do that--that money's for you, y'know."

"I don't need it." Ron said firmly. "Where I'm headed after this, gold won't help. And it's not like I can head down to Gringotts to keep it in a vault. I'll chip in with the festivities, but I want the rest of it to head back home."

"Ron..."

He hadn't thought at all about money these last few weeks, but surely if he had, the pieces would have fit together much faster. There was only one employee here native to Romania, and the rest were foreigners. It made sense that they'd all come this way expecting to send money a good distance back home, and thus why they had to sleep in tents instead of the fancy lodgings that would be expected of one of the newest and most ambitious lines of employment in the wizarding world.

"...Alright. You're keeping some of this, you hear? Just enough to get yourself something. We can split the rest off from the pool and mail a parcel back home while we're in town today. I'll write in the letter to mum that the chief decided to chip in a little and that's why there's extra coming home."

Ron nodded fervently. Without benefits coming in from Bill and the twins, and with the possibility of Dad and Percy having fled the Ministry, the Weasley household would be needing his help. And...it felt good to give it, actually. How strange. He would never have thought he could only feel relief at agreeing to give away the biggest portion of his first real spending money. The situations that war put people through, honestly.

"Ready to go? Go on, go get your broomstick, I'll be here."

Ron nodded, turning on his heel and retreating back to their tent. Murmurs were beginning to start up in the camp as the others woke up, preparing for their day of work. He sought out his pack and his broomstick, securing the former to the latter, and then spent a brief few moments going the extra mile in bundling up that he hadn't already. December was finally here, and colder than ever, and they were leaving well before the benefit of sunshine to take the edge off of the chill. Flying was going to be a nightmare.

Hurrying back, he found Charlie ready with his own broomstick. A few people were milling about at the edges of the camp--ordinarily someone would be up and get breakfast cooking early, but he and Charlie were going to eat in the village this morning. Hurrying over, he mounted his own broom, and at his brother's signal, they kicked off, flying high and then arcing back down, accelerating past the ridge that hid the little encampment from view. A snowflake hit Ron squarely on the nose again.

* * *

Elation had carried Ron throughout the morning, though it was now being tinged with apprehension. The little muggle village they'd come to, the largest within range, reminded him sharply of Hogsmeade, if a bit grayer and quieter. Snow covered every little cottage and shop, and people mingled in the streets. Ron and Charlie, full of good food and fresh from the post office having sent Ron's parcel off on a cross-continent trip courtesy of a great grey owl and the Floo offices it would be delivering to, were now strolling up the street, eyeing goods in various shops. He had something he wanted to talk to his older brother about, but he needed to find the right moment.

Shopping was incredibly fun; though gas lighting dominated the muggle settlement, you could find electric lights here and there, especially in the stores, that would've had Ron's father endlessly fascinated. This was nothing compared to what was inside; absent any magical elements, it seemed the muggles here liked to go above and beyond with bells and baubles, holly wreaths and mistletoe, little toy trains and nutcrackers, ornate candles and music boxes, and a thousand other things that would be of fantastic interest to most people, but of absolutely none to a dozen hulking men. There was a wizarding subsection of this village, though for lack of a true marketplace like Diagon Alley, most of the magically-inclined shopkeeps operated on the second floors of their respective buildings, to keep out of the public eye. Ron was amazed that Charlie had all of the names he needed to ask for memorized.

Not knowing the other rangers yet well enough to know what they'd want for Christmas, Ron allowed Charlie to do the more personal shopping, but was happy to make recommendations when it came to what the Christmas list _really_ consisted of: food, good food, and lots of it. Two hours into their trip, and the two were carrying several bags full, one of sweaters (Charlie had been trying to recreate the Weasley sweater tradition, but apparently, Erik and Marco weren't great at it), one of lights and fairies and magical bubble soap and candle wax and warm snow, and the other of roasts and cakes and pies. They were doing a final cursory stroll around the block to see if they'd missed anything; Charlie was convinced that a decadent, delicious pie always sold was there somewhere, it was just harder to find than usual this year. Finally, he came away from a stray shop in a back alley clutching a tin holding a wonderful vanilla bean-soaked chocolate gateau.

"The boys love this one, we always have to get two--Connor tries to eat a whole one all by himself." Charlie chuckled.

"You..."

"Yeah?"

"You...really love that Connor, don't you?"

This was not exactly an opportune moment to start this conversation, and his blurting out of that fact ought to rightfully earn him a bizarre look, but Ron worried that if he waited any longer, they'd have to head back and he'd lose a truly private chance to talk with Charlie about...well...

"I...Yes, I do."

Charlie's face had not fallen, even though Ron wouldn't have blamed him for apprehension at this sort of question. Ron was burgeoning with a desire for some sort of help with...something he'd been mulling over for weeks now. He couldn't stop himself from asking more.

"How did it happen?" he asked earnestly. "How did you two get together? How did you get a...a boyfriend?"

Charlie was peering at him curiously, and shifted the cake he'd bought into his other arm.

"This is about Hermione, isn't it?"

Seen through again. Ron cast his gaze away, diminishing.

"I just...I thought I might should ask, if I have the chance...even if there's no chance..."

"Always so negative, Ron. Lighten up a bit."

"But, I mean...seriously. How did you two get to be a thing?" Ron asked in earnest.

"Well," Charlie said, turning and continuing his walk down the street while Ron followed at a brisk pace, "Connor and I...we met when I first got here. He was a senior officer, and I was here, bright and shiny and new and...green. Socializing was difficult for me, since I was in a new place and didn't know anyone. I remember thinking he was so, _so_ cool, but also an _ass_. We had a lot of trouble getting along, early on, because we just...weren't clicking. I didn't know why, but I thought he didn't like me. It took us a long time to become friends. He eventually fessed up that he was jealous, because I was getting along with everyone so much easier than he was, from the staff to the dragons. He was also a little bit annoyed that I had such a big family that I'd talk about so much. Of course, I was jealous of him, too--everyone respected him, and thought he was the greatest thing ever, and here I was, with my stupid crush, wrestling with it...We got along better once we cleared the air, and we got a lot closer over the next few years. Everyone else was getting phased out, because they didn't like the work, or they'd gotten injured, or they decided they weren't getting enough fame and fortune. The sanctuary cycled through a lot of people, and we were the only constants. Connor eventually told me that he really didn't want me to leave...that he just knew I was going to go back home, or go off and find some place else to work, and...and he told me the work was a lot more fun with me around."

Ron listened attentively, picturing things perfectly. There had probably been some quiet, tense moment where their hands connected, silence fitting for a stage play between the two of them...there was just one thing that didn't fit with this story, and that was the cycling out of employees. Everyone here seemed like they genuinely loved it here and would never dream of leaving. He wondered if that had to do with Connor ascending to the position of Chief Ranger, with Charlie at his side.

"I told him I wouldn't dream of leaving. I didn't say 'you', but...I think he got it anyway. We had something deeper from then on, and one day, after I got him out of a bad bind with an angry Shortsnout, he kissed me. Everything tumbled into place from there."

"Did you ever..." Ron started, swallowing. "Did you ever feel like he was...out of your league? Like he'd never notice you, or like he'd..."

"Prefer someone else?" Charlie asked, an aside glance meeting Ron's gaze. Ron felt heat flushing his cheeks. "Probably not the same way you're talking about, but yes, I did have thoughts along those lines every once in a while. He did have a certain...'unattainable' quality to him there, for a while. For me, it was more about him being a man than it was about me being inferior. Don't get me wrong, I felt a lot of pressure to measure up, but I just thought for certain he'd hate me, or be disgusted, if he ever found out... I'm a lucky guy."

They walked in silence for a while as Ron took this in. Happiness for Charlie was overwhelming him, but it was mired by his own thoughts and feelings in regards to Hermione. He supposed it was too much to ask for that his brother's love life would mirror his own and give him a step-by-step guide on how to go forward. Eventually, as they strolled down the street filling up with people, Charlie spoke again.

"You should tell her you love her, Ron." he said softly.

"And she'll tell me she doesn't feel the same way." Ron responded. "Why would she? Harry's right there, and he's amazing, and I'm just..."

"Someone who'd love her right for her whole life." Charlie finished for him. "If there's one thing a Weasley does right, it's love. And I've seen how you talk about her from your letters, I know you would. You've got to sort your regrets out, Ron. Regretting doing nothing seems a lot less scary than the regrets you'd have after being turned down, but after the fact, you'd heal and it would hurt way less than never taking the chance at all. There's no reason why you should hide the way you feel for her. And if things turn out that way, and she really is in love with Harry...you'll still heal. You'll feel better knowing for sure, and being able to see her through it by her side. Harry Potter couldn't have picked a better friend, and Hermione Granger would be missing out. I mean," he said, nudging Ron in the ribs with a small grin, "they both would, if that's how you play."

"It isn't." Ron snorted. "But I appreciate the support."

For a time, they continued to shop quietly, but most of what they needed, they now had. Their coins had been dwindled down to near nothing by a succession of wizards offering Christmas trinkets and sweets, and it was time to get going. Ron thought he was forgetting something, but his mind kept going back to the discussion on love they'd had. He supposed it really wasn't the scariest thing ever, the idea of confessing...his worries and fears weren't gone, of course, but trying to imagine the fear that falling in love with another man must've generated in Charlie made him realize how easy he had it by comparison. Everything would be so much easier if there weren't a war going on, he thought. If--no, when he next saw them, he needed to tell Harry and Hermione how much they meant to him, and he needed to grow a pair with regards to Hermione.

At last, they were mounting broomsticks behind an alley no one ever wandered into, and kicking off with their cargo. Although their meager takeaway from the shopping trip could be called adequate when it was for fourteen men who were basically homeless, he still couldn't shake that he'd forgotten something. He finally realized what it was only when they were halfway back to the encampment.

"Charlie!" he called. "What about a Christmas tree?"

"Oh, don't worry about that." Charlie answered back. "Someone else will do that. The boys will be scouting for a good one for a few days. We always pick one from the surrounding forests and set it up ourselves. You'll see, it'll look great properly decorated."

His elation began to return. He knew that work wouldn't stop just because the holidays were upon them, but he felt like he could easily throw twice the energy into it if he got to come back to a truly festive campsite. It was a luxury he didn't deserve and shouldn't even have right now, considering the war going on and Voldemort's worsening reign back in Britain. He hoped that the money he'd sent back to the Burrow made it there quickly enough to be useful. The atmosphere back home must've been so grim, being able to have a good Christmas would do them some good.

His thoughts began to turn to the Deluminator as they began to approach the camp, where only Dimitri was present, mixing some more of that dragon fire salve with his mortar and pestle. Ron went to go and assist him, as well as get his assignment for the day. Charlie had gone off to the ranger chief's tent.

Halfway through getting his gloves on, he heard his name called, and this caused him to look up. It had sounded as though it came from right next to him, but the voice was nothing like Dimitri's. His head peered towards the chief's tent, where Charlie was most likely tending to his cloth full of gadgets and silver instruments. There was no sign that he had been called from within. And yet, he wanted to go over there and double check anyway. This was starting to become an issue, and he thought back on something he'd once discussed with Harry: even in the wizarding world, hearing voices wasn't a good sign. Was he going crazy? But then...

"Ron!"

His name actually was being called. His unease started to vanish as he stood up straight and went to meet Charlie. Though the Deluminator was still front and center in its many pieces (another metal object had been destroyed and removed, and another one could be seen partially melted), this wasn't what he was being summoned for. His brother was excitedly pointing out to him the tag notebook, where he saw an animated drawing of Thunder being tended to by Connor. There was potential, he had said, for adoption there, if their current progress was anything to go by. While he was gushing, Ron's eyes fluttered to the bed here, which didn't look like it was much used. Before, this had been a cause for quite some awkwardness on his part. Now, though, when he imagined his brother snoozing in the arms of a man he clearly loved a lot, it made him feel a little fuzzy. The corner of his mouth twitched as he returned his gaze to the booklet, where Connor was getting licked by a gigantic greyish-pink tongue.

"So, no tears from the big man?"

"Shh. Don't let him know I told you that."

He pushed his worries to the side. There was too much to do today, and he needed to enjoy the Christmas spirit while it was still bubbling up. Though, as he kicked off and rose into the air later in the morning, he wondered idly if anyone was missing him, somewhere.


	9. Christmas

"Ron! Ron, wake up!"

Ron groggily turned over, peering up into the blurry face of his brother. It was his day off, what was he being woken up for this time? As Charlie's face came into sharper focus, Ron saw a manic sort of joy etched into it. Then it hit him: it was Christmas Day. He hurriedly shot up in bed, consequently banging his head on the roof of the bed above him and grasping it in pain. Quickly shaking this much off, he slid out and Charlie made space for him.

"Hurry up and get dressed! Bundle up tight, and get your broom!"

"My broom?"

This was not an unusual demand of him, but as he peered at the walls of the tent, he realized that, though this was indeed his day off, it wasn't early. In fact, it was a lot later than he was usually woken up. He could hear a lot of chatter from beyond the tent flap, from more voices than should still be present at the camp site by now. Charlie had already zoomed off by the time he had taken in these facts, leaving him alone to dress and prepare. He couldn't be too surprised, what with having helped Charlie buy most of the presents that'd be exchanged today himself, but it would still be fun to see what gift giving was like at the sanctuary. He looked forward to seeing the other twelve mean wearing thick woolly sweaters. But, he didn't see what he expected to when he walked out, and he was indeed very surprised by what he did see.

Not only was he bearing his broom, but so was everyone else. There was a large trunk near the fire pit that Hazm and Jacques were bending over.

"C'mon, Ron! I have to show you how we play Quidditch!"

He followed the sound of Charlie's voice, and found him near the center of the camp. Under his arm was a large red Quaffle.

"Since when do you guys have time for Quidditch?" he asked, bemused.

"It's a Christmas tradition over here." Charlie said, beaming. 

"How the hell do you play Quidditch in the middle of a mountain range?" Ron asked, looking around. "You haven't got a pitch. Or goalposts. Or..." Ron said, eyeing the trunk. It was trembling violently. "Well, I guess you have balls..."

"C'mon, Ron, I'll show you." his brother answered, mounting his broom and beckoning for Ron to do the same. He obeyed, and followed Charlie as he rose high into the air. Once they were past the ridge surrounding the encampment, and he could see the rest of the surrounding snowcaps, his mouth dropped open in shock.

"We use the whole mountain range as our pitch." Charlie said, pointing to a distant peak, higher than the surrounding ones. The top of it had been totally cleared off but for three massive trees, with branches bent and woven into huge rings, topping the peak and visible for many miles. Swinging around, Ron followed the next signal to see an identical situation on a peak far in the other direction. "We used to use one Beater to a team and a referee back when there was just thirteen of us. But now that you're here, we can all play. You'll play Keeper, won't you?"

"You can't be serious." Ron said, flabbergasted. "You use this whole range, and you don't lose any balls? Or players? What about the Snitch? You'd lose that thing in half a heartbeat."

"That's the fun part." Charlie said, flying back down to camp with his brother in tow. "We obviously can't use a Snitch, so we make substitutes."

When they landed and the trunk was opened, Ron peered inside to find not only two strapped-in Bludgers wriggling aggressively and a pocket for the Quaffle, but a tiny indentation where a Snitch would ordinarily go. Curled up inside was a tiny, lizard-like thing that quickly unfurled thin, leathery wings: a miniature dragon. Ron was struck with a sense of familiarity, and realized that Harry had possessed one of these in the week following his first Triwizard Tournament task.

"Miniature model dragon." Charlie said, picking up the tiny beast carefully and letting it rest on his flat, open palm. "It's not alive, of course, we'd never. A little golem made of cheap materials and charmed to look like the real thing. A lot slower than a Snitch, but still very fast. Check this out."

Ron watched as his brother took out the spare wand he used, tapping the mini-dragon with it. At once, the small spines that lined its back and tail grew, extending far beyond what the little creature could've held within its body, and would've impaled Charlie's hand had any part of it been resting close enough. The spines retracted, and Charlie tapped again, this time twice. As if aiming at some invisible gnat causing it an annoyance, the little beast focused on a point in the air above the group now huddled nearby, blasting a jet of fire that extended ten feet. Ron's eyes widened.

"And finally..."

Three taps with the wand this time, and Ron watched as the dragon model curled up, began to glow orange, and vanished in a puff of flame and smoke, swiftly reappearing in a similar flash in the time it took Charlie to swap his wand to his other hand and landing on the now-outstretched palm. A grin lit Ron's face.

"It's charmed to not leave the area we've chosen to use, and deactivates and dissolves after twelve hours outside of its trunk, so on the off chance we do lose it, it won't cause any damage. The idea is to catch it and break it into clay, and it makes that very difficult."

"That's wicked, Charlie. I'm so jealous--you get to go hunting after that thing, and I just get to catch the Quaffle."

"Well, we can always spice up that part of the game for you, too, Ron." Charlie said, grinning. A hand clapped him on his shoulder, and he turned to find Connor staring down at him.

"You ever 'eard of a li'le American spor' called 'Quodpot', Ron?"

* * *

Ron hovered in the air ahead of his enormous tree-woven hoops. Jacques, Dimitri, and Hazm were Chasing for his team, with Oskar and Erik as Beaters and Viscent as the Seeker. These men had immediately petitioned for Ron to be Keeper for them, reasoning that it would be unfair for one team to get both of the star Quidditch players, which had made Ron feel very happy. Charlie was Seeking for the opposite team, of course, with Connor Keeping, given his size made him great at blocking a larger area. Anton, Ivo, and Marian were Chasing for them, and Yiannis and Marco were Beating.

At Connor's suggestion (and Ron's apprehension, strongly wishing he hadn't opened his mouth), the Quaffle had also been modified to make the game more interesting. There was a fuse attached, constantly burning down until it exploded, an addition based on the American sport Connor had mentioned. The difference was, in Quodpot, whoever had the ball when it exploded left the game, and thus the team who was finished off first lost. In this game of Quidditch, the rule was that the Quaffle going through the goal was ten points for the scorer, and the Quaffle exploding was a loss of twenty points for whoever held it, which seemed fun enough as the capture of the Snarl (the name the little dragon model had been dubbed) was still worth a grand hundred and fifty, balancing things out a bit. Much like the Bludgers, the Quaffle had been bewitched to fly towards the nearest player if it was dropped, preventing the Chasers or Keepers from simply discarding it in a panic to avoid losing points. A second or two after a detonation, the Quaffle would reform and re-light.

Ron braced himself as a pale-faced Marian, who had been refereeing last year, sped towards his center hoop. The Quaffle came soaring towards him, with a noticeably short fuse. Catching it easily, Ron sent it hurtling at Marian's retreating back, causing him to panic when it arced right over him and landed in his hands. He grinned as an explosion sounded, a cloud of black ash flowing outward mid-air and coating the poor man, who was otherwise none the worse for wear. It quickly reformed, and a shamed Marian flew back towards his fellow Chasers with it as they assured him it was alright.

A mere minute and a half later, the ball was returning this way, this time by the much more adept Anton. Readying himself, he turned his broom, preparing for a swerve he easily saw coming, zooming off just as Anton made a sharp turn and knocking the Quaffle away from the branch hoop with the tip of his own broom. It promptly flew towards Oskar, a Beater who was hovering nearby, who knocked it back towards a passing Dimitri.

The reason Oskar was hovering nearby was because, in 'Dragon Quidditch', as it was played, scoring points tended to be a bit more difficult than it would in a typical Quidditch game. Connor was reputed to be an excellent Keeper, and for his part, Ron had so far deflected eight attempts to score out of ten. The current score was sixty-to-twenty with his own team in the lead, and this was after a half hour of play. Thus, the Beaters were usually on a much more offensive role than defensive, with a heavy focus on using the Bludgers to knock the Keepers out of the way to open up a point--though now that there were fourteen players, the task could be split evenly. Ron hoped that Connor was simply slower than he'd thought, as otherwise, he was probably taking quite the pummeling, courtesy of Erik.

Without warning, there was a sudden flash of fire behind him. Ron looked back just in time to catch sight of the Snarl flying past his head at high speed, and quite alarmingly, there was now a flame burgeoning on his right-side hoop. Hurriedly taking out his wand to extinguish it, Ron then scoured the area for signs of their Seeker, and then motioned for Oskar to fly off and alert Viscent to its latest trajectory.

Unlike with the Snitch, catching the Snarl wasn't necessarily about who had the better broom or even about who was the better Seeker. You had to be careful when capturing it, else you'd get burnt or stuck with spines, and even if you had your hands around it ready to break it, it could Apparate before you could finish the job. Also unlike the Snitch, the Snarl tended to lay low and didn't engage in chases unless someone found it, so one had to hunt it by looking for signs such as flashes of fire or melted snow, making Seeking a much more active and attention-demanding job. Apparently, everyone rather liked using it, as even on the occasions in past years where they'd gone to the trouble of clearing out an area and designating it as a pitch, and then buying a full range of balls, Charlie had tended to catch the Snitch every single time. Ron was rather interested in seeing how a game like this was called, with no referee nor other attending officials.

Ivo was hurtling up the pitch with the Quaffle, only to be intercepted by Dimitri, who smiled at Ron as he swiped the Quaffle and zoomed off in the other direction. Though he was still very nervous, he thought he rather liked how different this game was from standard Quidditch. Perhaps, if this war ended soon, he could introduce this version back home, and he could hear Luna Lovegood commentate on a whole new game.

Another half hour, three blocked goals, and two missed ones later, and Ron was informed that the current score was eighty to a hundred and ten, with their Chasers having taken a couple of Quaffle explosions. The Snarl had been evading Charlie and Viscent so far, but for a moment when it had seemed like Charlie would catch it, only to be coughing on smoke and holding empty air. What with the playing range being so much bigger than the pitch that he was used to, a lot of what was going on with the game had to be relayed back to him by Oskar. Things were just starting to get a tad boring, when--

"Hey!"

Another flash of fire had erupted, and the Snarl was again in Ron's vicinity, clinging to the inside branches of his left hoop this time, which were already starting to smoke and fray from its sudden appearance.

"Go and let Viscent know it's this way!"

Oskar zoomed off to do that, but minutes later, this turned out to be the worst thing for Ron. The Snarl seemed to notice his presence, but not mind at this distance, but with his Beater off on a circuit of the range to find their Seeker and get him over to the hoops, Ron was left open. He noticed the Bludger out of the corner of his eye, batted his way by one of the opposing team's Beaters. Ron dodged the iron ball, which crashed through his hoop and caused the Snarl some distance away to spit and, well, snarl.

Ron took out his wand, hastily pointing it at the Snarl and using an Extinguishing Charm on the hoop that was steadily catching fire. Perhaps things would have calmed down between him and the little golem, even with its eyes burning into him for having the nerve to point a wand at it, had the Bludger not come back. Ron swung down and around in a loop to avoid it. With no other players in range and no Beater to redirect the Bludger, Ron became the subject of something he hadn't seen since he was twelve: the Bludger was slowing down and coming back towards him each time it overshot him.

"Oi! Oskar! Erik!"

The Snarl was getting angrier, but not retreating, which was a problem. Far from being worried about himself, he gathered that if it stayed here too long, the Bludger might hit it and destroy it, and foul up the whole game. But Ron himself couldn't leave his station to chase it away or flee the aggressive ball. Even beyond that, all he needed was a Chaser to come over here and abuse this situation. He kept his wand out, trying to divide his attention between both hostile objects.

"Aagh!"

The Bludger had swung around and clipped him on the shoulder, causing pain to shoot through him. It could have been worse, but he wouldn't be able to keep that up for long. Someone was approaching from the main range...no, two people. Was that Oskar with Viscent? Or a couple of Chasers he needed to block? But there was no time to focus on it. There was a growl from the Snarl, which seemed to think Ron was the one causing a large metal ball to rocket around nearby, and as he glanced at it, he saw lips curling back over its teeth. Ron pointed his wand and murmured a spell.

" _Inhalo...Suspiro!_ "

The jet of flame spat from the creature's mouth, and he was ready. Wind swirled around him, funneling outward from his wand and diverting the flames away. There was a silhouette advancing in the corner of his vision, and he turned to find Ivo making an attempt to score--he was turning in the air, trying to get away from the fire while using the Snarl as a distraction. Ron turned with him, speeding to the side, saw the ball launched from his hand. He braked hard, swerving to the side and hitting the Quaffle right back at him with the tail end of his Cleansweep.

_Bang!_

The cloud of black ash erupted as the Quaffle exploded right in Ivo's face, sending him coughing, but what of the other person Ron had seen zooming for the goal posts?

"Woah!"

"Ough!"

The Bludger had come back for another pass, narrowly missing Ron and hitting Ivo square in the stomach. Ron lurched forward to grab him by the arm to keep him from falling off his broom, a wise move given that the Quaffle explosion seemed to have disoriented him, and just as he was starting to feel very good, another snarl came ripping out of the mouth of the tiny model dragon to the side.

" _Inhalo--!_ "

The jet of fire was already coming towards him, but it never made contact. Just before Ron and Ivo had to face some burns and a night of being wrapped in jellied bandages, the Snarl was grabbed by a wizard on a broom, speeding directly upward from underneath it and snatching it right off its perch. Ron looked up to see who the Seeker was, expecting Viscent, but...

"Nice save, Ron."

Charlie grinned back down at him, holding the struggling Snarl in his free hand an instant before he closed his fist on it, breaking it into small shards of ceramic that fell to the ground from between his fingers. When the Snarl broke, not only did a cascade of sparks join the clay pieces, but a jet of fire shot up into the air and exploded, creating a scene that every player would see so they'd realize the game was over.

Ron met Charlie's grin with an annoyed half-smile, right as a third player zoomed up to him.

"S-Sinto muito!" came Viscent's wheezing and panting voice. "S-Sorry...hit by a Bludger...where's the...ahh..."

Ivo and Charlie both laughed, and Ron smiled despite himself.

* * *

Charlie's team had won in a landslide, even accounting for the explosions their team had tanked thanks to poor Marian being so unused to this style of Quidditch. Connor had been quite thrilled by the exploding Quaffle in play, having been trying to convince the others to give it a shot for two Christmases in a row, now. Ron's team, mourning the loss though they were, nonetheless congratulated him for stopping Ivo cold even with a Bludger and a Snarl attacking at once, and of course, everyone had a clap on the back for the finest Seeker, Charlie.

Work didn't stop entirely for Christmas, but given that this was a tradition and everyone had spent the previous day doing larger amounts of work to make time for the match today, there wasn't much left to be done, and after a quick lunch, everyone was able to take a mere four hours to finish up the rest of the things that needed doing around the sanctuary. Now, with everyone returned to camp and seeking to wind down, the winter sun already sinking and the sky tinging with pink and orange, everyone was lazing around the central fire pit and doing their own thing. Connor was still excitedly talking to Viscent about ways to 'spice up' next year's match, including, if Ron was hearing right, lowering the catch of the Snarl to a mere fifty points, but using multiple Quaffles and having the little golem constructs burst out of them whenever they exploded. Ron himself was relaxing, and waiting on the food to cook, his top half clothed in a seafoam green sweater two sizes two big for him (he had gladly traded with Dimitri, who now cheerfully bore his exposed midriff in a maroon jumper too small for him, as Ron had neglected to let Charlie know it wasn't his favorite color until it was already bought). Snow was falling on the camp, but none of it brought any cold with it, and in fact the heat radiated by the little enchanted flakes falling on the camp combated the chill wind of the evening quite nicely. The Christmas tree was particularly magnificent, decked out in gold webbing laced with bubbles and branches tipped with candles burning with harmless blue flames, all topped with a grand star. The radio was playing a variety of old Romanian Christmas and Yule songs selected by a surprisingly enthusiastic Marian.

At around six o'clock, dinner was almost ready, smelling absolutely amazing as Yiannis worked over several types of large game procured just for tonight. Ron was just sipping some butterbeer when a clap came to both of his shoulders and a voice murmured in his ear, not Connor's this time but Charlie's:

"I'm almost done with the Deluminator, Ron. It should only be a few more days. I'll call you when it's finished, okay?"

Surprisingly, Ron did not feel any sense of sadness at this news. He was just happy he'd been able to stay long enough to experience this. If he had to leave, and re-enter the frightening and terrible world of war, he was glad he'd gotten this brief reprieve, and hadn't missed one of the better Christmases he'd ever experienced. His smile only widened and he closed his eyes, taking in the warmth, the song, the camaraderie. Charlie was lucky to have not just one family, but two.

Finally, dinner was ready. Even Molly Weasley, though she'd have sniffed at the nutritional benefits, would've been asking for tips on Yiannis' roasts and steaks. Not only was Ron's stomach ready to jump out of his belly to eat it, but it was some of the most delicious meat he'd ever tasted. A fair few seasoned vegetables found their way in, too, and once everyone had chowed down on the mass amounts of supper--with butterbeer and firewhisky to wash it down--the caroling started. Marian was drunkest, yet somehow the most on-key, as he led Ivo, Oskar, and Anton in a variety of tunes they could barely pronounce properly. Ron didn't doubt he wouldn't have been much better even if he'd been a native speaker, because he'd been sipping a little bit of extra whenever he thought Charlie wasn't looking.

One such moment, noticed with owl-like eyes by Ron in the midst of all the buzzed singing and Christmas cheer, was a quiet one. Everyone was sitting in a circle around the fire, either drinking, singing, chatting, or eating one of the cakes they'd bought. Charlie and Connor, the latter's arm slung around the former, hadn't hidden away, just stolen the little moment while others were distracted, simply turning to each other to let their lips touch in a gentle kiss. Ron smiled, all discomfort and envy gone, feeling their contentment and love radiating through him.

He should probably go get packing...he'd need to be ready on a moment's notice when Charlie did finish his work with the Deluminator. This sort of thing couldn't last forever, no matter how much he might want it to. But he didn't feel like packing just now. It was Christmas. He could surely get a head start on that in the morning.

His worries weren't going to go away for good. He still had a mission to do, friends to get back to. A million apologies to make. The Death Eaters and Voldemort were waiting for him, ready to take everything from him and reinvent the wizarding world in Voldemort's image. But just for tonight, he would let himself be as happy as possible. Enough love and joy was in the air to fuel a hundred Patronuses.

He laid back on the ground, looking up. The sky was too thickly layered with clouds to see any stars, but he didn't mind. He took note of each little snowflake falling down, blowing a few away when it looked like they'd hit him in that most common of places.

The firelight began to waver and burned down to a few glowing embers. One by one, the men who had chosen this dragon sanctuary as their home cleaned themselves up and retreated back into their tents. Only when the enchanted snow had depleted itself did a chill finally return, and only when it came did Ron finally get up and return to his quarters to sleep.


	10. The Return

2:05 a.m., December 28th...

_"Ron..."_

_He was back in the tent with Harry and Hermione. Turned over in his bed, trying to sleep, trying to ignore them. They were murmuring in low voices, talking about something, and he heard his name. He ignored them; did they really have to chat this late at night? He pulled the cover over his head, trying to shut out the bluish wand light. Was she reading that book again? Or was Harry staring again into that little mirror shard? But again he heard his name, and against himself he wondered why they were talking about him. Did they think he was asleep? Or did they just not care if he heard? He grabbed his pillow, putting his head under it, but he continued to hear their indistinct voices, words garbled into something he couldn't make out. But again, he heard his name, clear as day, and he finally yanked the pillow and blanket away to furiously snap at them to be quiet--_

"Ron!"

Ron hurtled awake, tangled in his sheets and unable to make sense of anything. That wasn't Harry's voice, or Hermione's. That damn blue light was still there, only to fade just as he finally freed himself. No, it was still there, it was just...orange? What was going on?

"Ron, wake up!"

"I'm awake, I'm--Charlie?"

Charlie's voice wasn't loud, but it was urgent, a hissed whisper that made him scared. What had happened? Were there Death Eaters in the camp? Had someone gone missing? On finally, properly orienting himself and looking around the tent while blinking sleep out of his eyes, he saw that Charlie wasn't looking at him, but off to the side. It was too dimly lit in the tent, but there was a glint...the Deluminator? But before Ron could ask about this, he took in the orange light in full, along with a crackling noise.

For the past two weeks, he had slept softly not to total darkness, but the glowing of a soft, quiet fire that was incubating that little black egg Charlie had taken in. Ordinarily it wasn't a distraction, but now Ron saw the difference: the fire was burning just bright enough to highlight a hairline crack running the length of it.

"The egg?"

"I..." Charlie seemed to be thinking about something else. "Well, yes, there's that. You can go back to sleep if you want, I just thought you might want--"

"It's alright, I want to see." Ron said, suddenly awake in full. "What about the others? Should I go wake them up?"

"Er...yeah, you can. Go get Connor first, he'll finish waking the rest, and hurry back here."

Ron watched as a wand was pointed at the fire, extinguishing it and leaving them in darkness. Though he could barely see the silhouette of his brother, he could guess that he was about to take the egg off the fire. He felt blindly around his tent for the entrance flap, before opening it and cursing--the chill air greeting him was just short of painful. When his bare foot met the snow covering the ground outside, it crossed that threshold at blinding speed and kept going. Possessed of an energy borne of a desperate desire to get back into the warmth, he hurried at a blistering pace across the camp to Connor's tent, barging his way in.

"Hey! Hey, Connor! Wake up!"

The ranger chief bolted upright with surprising speed, and Ron was relieved to find that he didn't sleep naked as he shook his blankets off.

"Wha's goin' on? Dragon attack? Mam havin' egg trouble?"

"You could say that." Ron answered, snorting as he thought of Charlie as a mother. "It's the egg Charlie's incubating. It's hatching. He thought you and the rest would want to see."

"Eh? The egg? Ah shit, tha's righ'. Gimme a sec--you go on back, I'll ge' tha res' a tha boys up."

Ron complied immediately, reluctant to leave the tent but running at breakneck speed once he had. Fleeing back to the safety and warmth of Charlie's tent, he found wand light within.

"Am I late? It's not done yet, is it?"

"No, no, sit down, it'll take a minute."

The wand light was coming from next to Charlie's head, causing Ron to realize it was slid over his ear, leaving both hands free to hold the egg, cradled in his arms just over his crossed legs on the floor. No sooner had Ron also sat cross-legged on the floor opposite him by the black remnants of the fire to warm his ruddy, chilled feet than a bellowing voice shook them both.

" ** _OI, CUNTS! WAKE UP, BOYS!_** "

Ron was surprised Charlie didn't drop the egg and send it breaking onto the floor. He'd never heard Connor yell like that, and he had no doubt that people in Greenland could hear him, nevermind the people within this encampment. There was immediately a thrush of activity from outside the tent as lights came on and men woke up and began hurriedly dressing themselves.

"I always tell him not to do that." Charlie muttered apologetically. "But he gets excited and wants everyone to see the miracle of life."

As Ron watched, another crack appeared in the egg he was holding, and it trembled. A squeak came from within.

Soon, men were filing into the tent around them, which barely held them all with room enough to move. Some were wearing their dragonhide materials, and others were carrying bottles or meat. Charlie could be heard shushing people several times, urging them not to crowd too closely around the egg, and after Marian had made his way in, Connor finally closed the tent flap and cut off the cold air from getting in. Ron remained closest, observing carefully as several more cracks lined the egg's surface. Once the chief had struggled to squirm his larger frame over without blocking anyone's view, quiet overtook the group.

More squeaking. The egg began to tremble violently, and a tiny little protrusion, a spine or horn, broke the surface. All of the men, in full synchronization, stepped back towards the walls of the tent, leaving just Ron and Charlie in center--Ron hurriedly scooted back to give them space.

The egg was kicked from the inside and fell apart all at once, revealing a leathery, inky black dragon with gold eyes. A sense of deja vu came over him, and he had questions, but he didn't dare voice them yet. The dragon was looking directly up at Charlie. Though he had once seen a dragon hatching before, he had to admit that Charlie displayed a lot more technique in the matter than Hagrid had. He remained motionless, still cradling the dragon as it righted itself and looked up at him with its beady stare. It was covered in miniscule little spines and ridges, including a slight fringe around its face. It continued to squeak, a now hoarse rasp in its tiny voice underscoring it. It looked around the room, meeting faces one by one, though it snapped its attention back to its holder once he spoke, in such a soft and quiet voice Ron wouldn't have imagined it coming from his brother.

" _Hey there..._ "

Slowly, steadily, Charlie lifted a gloved hand and let it hover near the dragon's face, steady but relaxed. It crawled forward to sniff at Charlie's fingers, and with a croak, bit down on them fiercely. Ron was not surprised by this, but what did surprise him was Charlie's reaction to it, or lack thereof.

"Hehe. I guess you're hungry, aren't you?" he said, in that same benevolent whisper. Without bothering to free his finger, he lifted his head and nodded to one of the other men, who Ron identified as Hazm, who brought forth a small bowl in one hand and a large brandy bottle in the other, the baby dragon's eyes focused on him as he did so. Ron immediately knew that there was chicken blood mixed in as he poured up a small dish full. He handed it to Charlie, who maneuvered himself so as to be able to grasp the bowl while retaining his grip on the dragon. The little creature, still with its teeth embedded in the hide leather gloves, was noticeably staring at it, its nostrils flaring and quivering. It didn't take the miniature beast long to decide that the chicken blood brandy probably tasted better. Crawling over and nearly knocking the bowl from his hand, it climbed onto the rim and lowered its snout to the liquid, and began to drink.

"Um..."

The dragon's tail and wings had twitched when he had spoken, and Ron shut up immediately, swallowing his question. Charlie, however, whispered back:

"It's alright, Ron, just ask quietly."

"What...what breed is it?" Ron asked, peering down at the little thing as it pigged out. Connor was the one who spoke up in the same low whisper.

"Hungarian, I think."

Ron's eyebrows jumped.

"Not a Horntail?" Ron asked, looking from the dragon to the ranger chief and back. It did appear somewhat spiky and hostile, but he distinctly remembered Hungarian Horntails being quite plainly the most dangerous breed of dragon to exist.

"Possibly. Might be a Serbian Spitter."

"Spitter?" Ron continued, after waiting to make sure that the little beast would keep drinking and ignore the two of them. He'd never heard of that breed of dragon before. "I thought there were only ten breeds of dragon?"

"There's ten _breeds_ of dragon, Ron." Charlie corrected him quietly, adjusting his arms so that the dragon could better reach its dwindling meal. "The word's a misnomer. Ten distinct families of dragon. There's plenty of subspecies in there. Spitters are close relatives of the purebred Horntail. Of course, they're usually sleeker than this, less spiny. Little pup's digging into my leathers, haha. I think this might be a mix, actually. Hungarians do interbreed with Ridgebacks a lot."

At this moment, the unknown 'pup' finished its meal and belched, a small mushroom cloud of fire singing the top of the wooden bowl and smoke unfurling from its nostrils. It was now peering around, taking in its surroundings warily.

"All done with your meal, little guy?"

The dragon glanced upward at Charlie in response to this, but otherwise didn't give any indication that this meant anything to it. Without warning, it flapped its wings once, then folded them back and clawed its way up his arm to rest on his shoulder, hiding most of its body behind his head. Little _raahp!_ sounds came from it as it used him like a barrier from behind which it could safely survey the others in the room. Ron saw its glare find him, and he did his best to relax and look nonthreatening. Connor made to move, only for it to hiss and snort a puff of flame right under Charlie's ear in his direction. It was quite impressive to see his brother get the left side of his jaw burned and barely even react besides a twitch, but Ron did imagine it must've hurt quite a bit. His hair was also smoking.

"Oi." Ron whispered, catching Dimitri's eye. He seemed to understand and carefully backed out of the tent while the dragon kept its eyes on him the entire time, off to get the materials to treat Charlie's fresh burn with.

"Alright," whispered Charlie to the room at large, "everyone but Ron, you should either be mixing some food for the little one or getting back to sleep. File out, now, and do it slowly."

One by one, the men followed Charlie's instructions, leaving the tent slowly and quietly so as not to agitate the dragon. Once everyone had left, it seemed to relax somewhat, carefully crawling down his shoulder and off of his lap onto the floor, still remaining wary of Ron but now willing to curiously explore the tent. Ron remained still, simply trying to let it be and not alarm it too much.

"So, what now?" he asked, watching the creature pawing at the now cold ashes and logs that had formerly been its incubator.

"Now," Charlie said, picking the dragon up by the back of the neck, to ineffectual squeaks and rasped protests, and setting it back in his lap, where it hesitantly laid down, "I'm on daddy duty. Newborn dragons need feeding every half hour, so I'll be staying up. When Connor finishes mixing some meals for this one, he'll head back to sleep, and tomorrow when he wakes up, he'll take over and I'll get to rest. You should go back to sleep, too. I'll make sure the little one doesn't hurt anything of yours."

Ron hesitated to just go back to bed. Having been working at the sanctuary for two months now, he didn't really fear being attacked by the little dragonling as it were, or even that Charlie would fail to keep the rascal away from his things. His mind was still on the blue light he'd woken up to just before the hatching. Had that really just been wand light? He didn't think so, even as he stood up slowly and carefully gave the baby dragon a wide berth as he made his way back to his bunk.

"...It's tomorrow, isn't it?"

Charlie looked up at him, with an odd expression on his face, but didn't answer. The silence hung until he turned away, and Ron took that as his cue to slip back under his sheets and try to make himself go back to sleep.

It was good he'd already packed.

* * *

The day seemed too quiet as Ron proceeded with his duties. All of his work was to be done at the camp today, from assisting the healers with mixing their materials to helping the clothiers make a few new outfits. He didn't see much of Charlie or Connor all day, understandably. Flashes of light came from within Charlie's tent periodically, and the one time he did get a good glimpse of the ranger chief, he was stumbling out of said tent with smoke unfurling off of his singed hair and clothing, so he guessed that 'daddy duty' wasn't a job he should envy.

Throughout the day, apprehension and later dread gnawed at him. He was ready, he kept telling himself, it was time. He had to leave this safety and go back out there. He wanted to! It just terrified him so much. Far from the dangers of fighting Snatchers and Death Eaters and dementors, he did not know what on Earth he was going to say to Harry and Hermione if and when he found them. Would he be able to distract them with the appearance of Charlie? How would he apologize? How was he going to handle their resentful glares, knowing they were right? Somewhere in his head, the idea of Harry and Hermione running towards him and grabbing him in a huge hug appeared, though Ron knew that much was simply a pipe dream. He'd be lucky if they didn't try to curse him.

He hadn't made this place his home away from home the way his brother had, but he was still going to miss everyone here. Connor had grown on him a lot, and the lack of normalcy provided by those familiar rangers' faces was going to hurt. That Quidditch game, it should've lasted longer. He'd had real fun here.

Afternoon had passed into evening, then into dusk, before Ron was called back into Charlie's tent.

He was waiting inside, in the center of the tent and holding the Deluminator. Something was quite off, though Ron couldn't place it just yet.

"It's...finished, then?" he asked.

"Yes." Charlie answered. "I was able to find a...hidden function. The device has a memory system, so that it can properly restore lights to the place they belong to. But it's not just light that it stores and keeps track of. There's an undercurrent, there, some...fire-like thing. A sort of energy. That's what was melting the intruding instruments. The memory system inside allows you to use the Deluminator to track those energy points it's recorded."

This was all utterly alien to Ron, who blinked slowly. "Are you saying we don't have to look...? This thing can take us to Harry and Hermione?"

"Er...yes, that is what I'm saying. It's been done for a while, but I wanted to take a few days to test it and make sure nothing was going to go wrong. So...do you have everything you need?"

He knew what was wrong, now, but he avoided acknowledging it in favor of wracking his brain to see if he'd forgotten anything. He had his rucksack, his wand, all of his clothes, some new dragon hide leathers, and that...was about all to his name that he had or needed--wait. There was one other thing.

"Um..."

"Yes?"

"Do you...do you guys mind if I borrow the radio?"

With all of the hubbub over Christmas, had only just realized there would have been a Potterwatch broadcast recently that he must have missed. He would need to use that to look out for clues on the whereabouts of Harry and Hermione. So far, nothing helpful had appeared, but it was his way of keeping up with the wizarding world anyway, and he needed to keep his eyes and ears peeled.

"I...Sure, go ahead. I'll let Jacques know you took it with you, he won't mind."

Ron turned and retrieved the radio from where it was waiting on the floor at the foot of his bunk. Taking a moment to place it in his rucksack properly, he stood up, turning slowly, and swallowing.

"...You're not dressed to leave. And you don't have your things."

Charlie stared sadly at him.

"...I can't go with you."

"--Eh?"

"I...can't go with you, Ron." Charlie said, and Ron's heart seemed to inflate, then shrink and sink to his stomach. He wasn't coming? Had he decided that staying at the sanctuary with Connor and his new child was more important? But Ron didn't have time to let nonsense like that get to him before Charlie was speaking again.

"You saw Connor earlier today, didn't you? All singed and burned? That was what happened when we tried to Side-Along with it. It...rejected us. I think it's built for one person to use only. Actually...I think it's built just for _you_ to use, Ron."

Charlie held up the fingers on his right hand, where Ron could see fresh burn marks that mirrored his own barely-regrown fingernails. These hadn't come from taking care of the pup. Was the Deluminator going to burn him the same way?

"Just for me..." Ron murmured blankly, looking down when he felt Charlie pressing the lighter into his hands. It was taking some time to hit him properly: he had to return to the wizarding world's fight, and he had to do it alone.

"When you're ready to leave," Charlie said, grasping him by the shoulders, "come outside to the center of camp. We'll all be waiting for you."

With that, his brother left the tent, and Ron was left standing alone.

 _This is it_ , he thought to himself. _It's not like this should hurt too much. I came to this place expecting to leave it by myself, and now I am._

And yet, the regret welling up inside of him took its time fading away. He really didn't want to leave. Even if he had to say goodbye to the others, it was his brother he really didn't want to part ways with so soon. He tried to combat this by telling himself that it wasn't permanent. Charlie was practically guaranteed to survive, and he'd be safe here with Connor and his dragons. So all Ron had to do was survive, too, and he could come back and visit whenever. The future didn't have to be bleak...not totally.

Finally, there was nothing left to hold him back, and he marched outside with his things. Night had fallen in full, leaving the white snow covering the ground to contrast sharply with the deep, dark blue sky. The center of the encampment was taken up by a circle of thirteen men, all looking towards him as he crunched his way across the site towards them.

It was Connor he marched towards first, and as he drew close, he realized that the long black thing sitting on his shoulder was the baby dragon born just twenty hours ago. Connor extended his big, rough, calloused hands.

"Ron." he said, a bright smile gracing his face. "This is Gareth, our newes' member o' tha team--for two weeks, at least. Say hello."

Ron took his hand and felt it firmly shaken as he peered over at the dragonling, only for Connor to take the grip on his hand and use it to pull him into a tight hug. 'Gareth' did not seem to like this, and bit Ron hard on the ear.

"Ow!"

"Hehe, sorry. Still pre'ey fond o' bi'in' things." Connor apologized in his other, unbitten ear. One of the arms holding him came up and gripped Gareth by the neck, who immediately surrendered his hold on Ron's ear. "A li'le souvenir for your trip, then. You come back, y'hear? We'll always be happy ta see you. You work well wi' dragons, too, as et happens, so if ya ever need work, you can find tha' here, too."

Ron tried to say something past the lump in his throat, but he didn't have the chance. Dimitri invaded, pulling Ron into a hug of his own, and all of a sudden the boy was being besieged by arms from every direction, a dozen voices all wishing him well and saying how nice it was to have him. Even Marian lifted him almost off his feet, uttering out a surprisingly good 'Ve'll v--we'll want you back, yes?".

Charlie was the last one to walk up to him and take him in a tight hold.

"It was so nice having you, and I'm gonna miss you a lot. Give my regards to the rest of the family when you see them, okay?"

"I will." Ron said, smiling into his brother's shoulder. At last he was released, and he held the Deluminator aloft. "What do I do?"

"You just think strongly of who you want to see, and it'll start to glow. When it does, turn the wheel."

Ron did as he was instructed, closing his eyes and thinking. Many of the memories he called on when trying to cast a Patronus came back to him now, mixed in with a terrible desire to see those two friends who most often featured in them. True to Charlie's words, behind his closed eyelids, he saw a bluish-white glow. Opening his eyes, he turned the wheel of the lighter slowly.

The light took form, slowly blooming out of the tube like a bubble, taking a spherical shape and then gently detaching. It floated over to his chest, and Ron fought back fear as he watched it disappear behind his sweater, the warmth of it passing through and melting into him. The light came from inside him, now, directly where his heart was pumping.

The world seemed to brighten, and he felt a pull. Something like a mix between the jerk behind the navel of a portkey, but all over his body, and the squeezing feeling of Apparating. He realized that the little instrument, and the light it had sent inside him, were trying to induce Apparition, all he needed to do was go along with it.

Nervousness was overtaking him, which he tried to swallow, not wanting to Splinch himself again.

"G...Goodbye, everyone." he said, blue tinting the edges of his vision. All he had to do was follow the path... "Love you, Charlie."

"Love you too, Ron. Stay safe."

A chorus of goodbyes from the men surrounding him found his ears just as he Apparated, blurring into a haze of sound as he entered the void. The squeezing sensations overpowered him, and he fought to relax, trying to follow the pull of the Deluminator. He could still hear, and could still make out people speaking, but it wasn't just the sanctuary rangers anymore. He heard voices, voices he recognized that filled him with joy--his friends. Not just his friends, but his family. He heard snippets of conversation revolving around him, every time his name had been mentioned by the people he loved. Ron realized that the Deluminator's memory extended further than just where he was trying to go. It would take him anywhere, anywhere he had people he could turn to. He could go back to Bill and Fleur's cottage, or go back to the Burrow, or track down his twin brothers...he could even see Ginny, if he wanted...

 _Harry and Hermione_ , he thought desperately. _Take me back to Harry and Hermione..._

The pull seemed to change direction, and Ron felt his body swirling through nothingness, moving along at a blistering speed through everything in his path--across lakes and oceans, and little towns and cities so far below.

_Harry and Hermione, Harry and Hermione..._

He was praying that he would find them, and not stumble across one of them having been separated from the other. His worry, his desire to be three again, seemed to magnify the attraction, and he felt himself going even faster--but where was he headed?

He felt the pull fading, as if he was close to being reeled in at the end of a fishing pole, like there was only a little more ways left to go. When he finally breached that threshold, he felt himself regaining form, becoming a part of space again, and falling. Cold air hit him as he collapsed forward, hitting the ground.

Ron took a shaking breath, realizing it was dirt under his left palm. He could still see his breath in the air ahead of him, but otherwise it was too dark to see anything. Slowly, he stood up, trying to take in his surroundings. He took out his wand, casting the lighting charm and examining the local area. Given a few moments for his eyes to adjust, he could tell he was in some kind of forest, with trees bare of leaves surrounding him. There was no sign of anyone else nearby.

"...Harry?" he called out, fearful that his voice would attract something hostile. "...Hermione?"

Where had the Deluminator taken him? Without a good sense of where he was, he might not be able to Apparate out properly. He fingered the little silver lighter in his right hand, and it seemed to vibrate... _Hang on..._

Ron looked at it carefully, having felt something different on its surface. In the wand light, he could see that shining letters had risen from the previously smooth metal of the shell, tiny but clearly spelling out a phrase:

_Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also._


End file.
